Telling Tales
by Oldach's Dream
Summary: Nothing good can come of Gus going out of town. And nothing did. At least, Gus doesn’t think so. He’s really not sure yet. So he settles in for over the phone story time with his best friend. Shassie slash. Story Complete!
1. The Beginning

By: Oldach's Dream

Disclaimer: Think if I sacrifice enough pineapples I'll get them? Yeah, I doubt it, too.

Summary: Nothing good can come of Gus going out of town. And nothing did. At least, Gus doesn't think so. He's really not sure yet. So he settles in for over the phone story time with his best friend. Shassie slash.

Telling Tales

* * *

"_If you've heard this story before, don't stop me, because I'd like to hear it again." -Groucho Marx_

* * *

"Shawn!" Gus shouted into the phone, "Where the hell are you?"

Shawn Spencer closed his eyes, stretched out an arm and sighed a weary sigh that he believed – if done enough times – would actually start to take years off his life. That's why Santa Barbara's resident psychic didn't sigh unless it was done in a mocking manner – because those didn't count. Deep, heavy sighs like the one he'd just let out weren't supposed to be a part of his demeanor. His childish ways did not include those grown-up, Henry-Spencer-reminiscent sighs.

Today, however, was an exception.

"It's kind of a long story." He told his best friend, raising his hand from where it'd fallen on his thigh, to his face and rubbing his stubble tiredly.

"Shawn!" Gus shouted again. He wondered briefly if his friend thought the increased volume would gain him something other than worsening Shawn's already pounding head. "I got back from my conference yesterday morning and you were no where to be found! There were messages on the Psych answering machine from so many people-"

"Any new cases?" Shawn perked up a little. He knew that wasn't what his friend had meant to imply, but he couldn't help but be a little hopeful.

If there was one thing in this world that Shawn Spencer lacked, it was a certain type of foresight. A certain type, mind you. Because he could predict the actions of murderers, thieves, kidnappers, bank robbers, muggers, criminal masterminds, wanna-be criminal masterminds and idiotic, drunken teenagers as well, if not better, than any real psychic could ever hope to.

It was the basic, common sense foresight that he always seemed to be lacking. For example, he should have known that when Burton 'Worry-Pants' Guster wanted an answer of this nature and his reckless, foresight-lacking best friend was deflecting, only one thing ever really happened.

His voice got even _higher_. "Shawn!"

"Alright, alright." He snapped in a way that would have been hostile and almost mean had the words come from anyone else. But somehow from him, they managed to just sound like part of the plot.

"Your dad called. The Chief called. Juliet called. Buzz called. Some guy named Mitch called." Gus was ranting, Shawn was holding his breath. "Lassiter called more than any of them-" Shawn simultaneously released his breath and felt an icy cold dagger of guilt penetrate his stomach. "-I'm thinking about starting a pool about what the hell really happened to you. The running theories so far seem to be Mexico, Canada, really angry stripper, dead in a ditch, _Crandall- _and you will explain that one later – and, my personal favorite, San Francisco."

"Dude…" Shawn exhaled slowly, "Did you take a breath during any of that? Cause seriously, that was some impressive nut-shelling."

"What nut-shelling?" His voice wasn't quite as high-pitched, but Shawn knew he was in trouble when Gus used his terminology. They'd been friends for long enough that one might think a few common phrases would rub off on the more professional man. But no, Gus went to great lengths to keep his vocabulary on that 'I should have won the damn spelling bee and it's your fault I didn't' level. Only when he was truly upset or distracted did Gus fold and stoop to Shawn's level. "I have no idea what's going on."

The fake psychic was tempted to sigh again, but retrained himself by sheer force of will. "Gus…"

"No," the black man started talking when he didn't go on. Which was good, because he hadn't been lying when he'd said this was a long story – and he really didn't have a clue as to where to start. "No, Shawn, I leave for a week on a _required job conference_ with the specific requests that you not get into any trouble, you call your dad at least once, don't take any cases and you don't turn our office into a crapshoot while I'm gone."

"Well…" Shawn remembered that conversation very well indeed. "The office looks good."

"There's half a rotting pineapple on top of the fridge," Gus sneered.

Shawn cringed. "Whoops. Forgot about that."

"The whole place smells like pineapple, burnt carpet and smoke."

"Oh yeah," Shawn cringed again. "I forgot about that, too."

Gus was the one that sighed this time. Though, in his best friend's defense, Gus had always been the more grown-up of the two. It would make sense that he would have the grown-up sigh down pat by now.

"Shawn," he could practically see his friend's long fingers massaging his temple, and then going back to cover the Super Smeller if he was still in the Psych office. Which Shawn knew he was. "You've got to tell me what happened. Before Juliet reports you as a missing person and the cops find you and then kill you because, oh yeah, you're _not_ a missing person."

"Well," Shawn began, "Like I said, it's really long story."

"I just got off an airplane, where I sat next to a little old lady who did nothing but talk about her cats. For_ five hours_." He pressed that last part, just to make sure Shawn got it. The careless young man was glad his friend wasn't there to see his wide grin. "I could use an interesting story."

Shawn rubbed his eye with the side of his knuckle and fought back the sudden and out of place urge to laugh hysterically. God, he was tired. "Alright, fine. I'll tell you."

Gus put up with his friend's accompanying silence for all of three seconds before he snapped, "I'm waiting."

"Relax," Shawn soothed. "I'm just trying to think of the best way to start this."

"The beginning's always a valid option."

"I know." Shawn _did not _sigh again. "This story just has a very indefinable starting point."

"The beginning is where the relevance of the plot is first discovered." Gus said.

"You just quoted our tenth grade English teacher." Shawn shook his head back and forth in disbelief.

"What?" Gus demanded. "I always liked Mr. Meluch, and he had a point with that one."

The fake psychic muttered something incomprehensible before giving in, rolling his eyes and talking. "Fine, the beginning. Well…I guess the beginning goes a little something like this…" he took a deep breath, "Hey Gus, guess what?"

Shawn could practically hear the grinding teeth. "What?"

"I'm gay."

End Chapter.

A/N: Well, this is my first attempt a Psych Fanfiction, so your reviews are greatly needed and appreciated. Any guesses you have as to where this plot is going…well, let's just say your guess is almost as good as mine. But hey, do I at least have you interested?


	2. Of Fishing and Bars

Chapter Two: Of Fishing and Bars

_**Seven Days Ago…**_

Shawn Spencer didn't have issues with his father so much as he had…facets of irritation. His childhood, that was one facet. His dad's need to control everything that he did, that was a facet. Henry's built-in belief that – because he taught his son everything he knew, trained him – he was the better detective, that was another facet. There were millions more, but Shawn wasn't in the mood to be depressed right now.

Instead, he decided to share his new metaphor.

"We have different facets," he began, eyeing his father critically over his bottle of Budweiser. "There's like…all these different facets, and you just…keep adding to them."

Henry glared at his son in a roundabout way. "What are you talking about?" He asked, almost carelessly.

"You're stalking me." Shawn burst out, giving up on the metaphor all together and waving his hand in the air for good measure. "This, this right here-" he gestured some more, rather vaguely, "-this is not normal."

"It's a bar," his father scoffed, signaling to the man behind the counter and getting irritated when he was ignored. "A public establishment. I have just as much of a right to be here as you do." He lowered his hand and all but huffed in anger. "Get over yourself, kid."

"Since when do you go to bars, anyway?" Shawn gave up his outraged annoyance-tinged-ever-so-slightly-with-distain and crashed right into comfortably buzzed thus he didn't give a shit.

"Since I was twenty," Henry snapped, "What about you? That fake ID you got when you were fifteen ever work out for you?"

Shawn wanted to act shocked and feel a sense of personal invasion because his father knew that. And hey, why the hell not?

"How did you…I knew it! You snooped through my room when I was a kid, didn't you?" He'd figured that out long ago, in truth – that's why he'd started hiding all his incriminating items at Gus' house in his mid-teens - there was just something about bringing up old issues with his father that was supremely satisfying to the younger Spencer.

"I was a cop," Henry all but shouted the last bit, in hope that the seemingly deaf bartender would hear and serve him already.

Shawn waited silently for a few seconds with his dad…and…wait for it…so close…oh, _bust_. The younger man wanted to grin but restrained himself because…okay, maybe that was a smile on his face.

"What are you smirking at?" Henry barked.

"I…" Shawn trailed off mid-sarcastic quip to glance over his father's shoulder. Friggin' perfect. "Lassie!" He shouted all the same, restraining a real grin as the detective looked over at him and almost – almost, mind you – smiled.

"Spencer," Lassiter called lightly, walking over to him. The older man was wearing his almost always present perfectly pressed shirt and pants. He was sans jacket, which Shawn knew was his version of 'casual.'

The current head detective saw the retired cop and a look of regret flashed over his features for such a brief moment that the only person in the entire world who would have noticed was Shawn himself.

Even his father seemed to think that Lassiter's, "Mr. Spencer, nice to see you again," and the following manly handshake were sincere. The Irishman took a seat next to Shawn's father at the bar, leaning back casually and gesturing to the bartender.

The short man behind the counter walked up immediately and Shawn took in his father's flabbergasted expression while pretending to glance at the front door.

"What can I do you for?" The man said in a thick, and horribly out of place on someone so docile looking – in Shawn's opinion – Bronx accent.

"Scotch," Lassiter said lightly, the man nodded and looked at the fake psychic, nodding slightly down at the beer Shawn still had in his grasp. Shawn nodded, indicating that he would indeed like another.

Henry had just opened his mouth to finally place his order, but the nice bartender man walked away. "Son of a-"

"So, Mr. Spencer," Lassiter broke through the quiet curse quickly and the two younger men were both barely containing grins. "You been out fishing lately?"

This topic, as expected, distracted Henry from his upset slightly, and as he grudgingly answered the politely phrased question, Shawn let his vision wander.

He hadn't been expecting to run into his father at a bar near the outskirts of Santa Barbara. He and Lassie had planned on meeting here specifically because it was fairly far away from where they lived, worked and normally socialized.

The relationship that Shawn had with Detective Lassiter was…a complicated mess, to put it lightly, and he didn't feel like dwelling on it right now. Instead, he let his roaming eyes take in the surrounding bar and its occupants.

He'd never been here before, but after only a few minutes of eyeballing, he could tell that it was a family owned place (A back wall was covered with pictures from throughout the years, judging on how faded the Polaroid's looked. And the _Corky's _employees – they all had aprons or hats with the bar's named displayed visibly – had the same short stature, facial similarities and a birthmark near the hairline.)

Just like the one the man handing him his third beer bottle had almost directly above his left eyebrow. Shawn nodded at him after receiving his drink and tuned back into Lassie and his dad for just long enough to realize that they'd begun a riveting conversation about fishing poles.

Shawn rolled his eyes, sipped his beer and kept scanning. There was a couple in the corner of the room by the front window that was in the midst of a break-up (she was crying, he was fingering an obviously female claddagh ring - plus there was a tan line on her middle left finger. He looked on the brink of tears, too.) Shawn felt bad for them, but knew there was nothing he could do – she was moving to Boston to go to college (brochure sticking out of her bag) and he had to stay in California to take over a family business, trade or care for a close relative in some way or another (Shawn knew what resentment looked like) so he just politely glanced away, frowning absently.

Random patrons crowded the establishment. Two gay men were sitting to the far left of the bar flirting, very obviously. Shawn wondered if Lassiter had seen them, wondered if it made him uncomfortable. Then he wondered if it would make his dad uncomfortable, if his father the ex-cop would make some kind of joke at their expense. When he started wondering about how he felt about it – what would it be like to be labeled as _gay_? - he decided that he wasn't quite drunk enough yet, took another swig of beer and averted his eyes yet again.

That's when he noticed it – noticed them. He shook his head to clear it, knowing that intoxication might skew his observations, and then he looked again. He wasn't wrong.

_Crap._

Shawn bit his lip to keep from smiling ironically. Gus hadn't been out of town half a day yet and he was already disobeying the rules his worrisome friend had laid down. Though, in Shawn's defense, Gus had just said not to take any cases, he'd mentioned nothing about cases – or in this instance, particular situations – coming to him.

Hell, if nothing else, it would make the fishing talk stop.

"Hey, guys," Shawn broke up a riveting conversation about trout or some such boringness. "I hate to interrupt-"

"Yeah, right," Henry snapped, interrupting his interruption. Both his son and Lassiter were a little taken aback by the harshness of his words. "Shawn, are you completely incapable of being quiet for more than ten minutes?"

"I-"

"I know you could care less about fishing, but could you stop and think for maybe just a second that the world doesn't revolve around you and keeping you entertained?"

"Wow," Shawn licked his lips and debated on whether or not to actually take offence, "Someone's crabby."

"Shawn-"

This time it was the younger man interrupting, "Hey, in my personal opinion, the only thing more boring than actually fishing, is talking about fishing," he saw an almost hurt look ghost over Lassiter's face and wanted to roll his eyes. "But that's just me, you two can spend all the time you want chatting about bait and hooks and lines and reels,"

"Shawn-"

"I just thought you might like to know," he spoke over his father once more and gestured to two tall white guys with red hair sitting at the very back of the bar, "Fred and George over there are about to rob this place."

o0oo0o

_**Now…**_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gus interrupted loudly, causing Shawn to stop mid breath and focus again on his current surroundings.

"What?" The other man said, "You asked me to start at the beginning."

"You cannot go, 'Hey, Gus, guess what? After years of having sex with any woman who looked at me, I discovered that I'm actually gay.'" He took a deep breath, "And then start talking about two guys holding up a bar."

"Technically," Shawn said in a purposely annoying whiny voice, "All I said was that I thought they were going to hold up the place. And that was just based on their nervous expressions and behavior, untypical baggy clothing – because, Hi, we're in California, no one really needs to own a black sweatshirt that big - the gun sticking out from the one guy's pants and the car with no license plate I remembered seeing in the parking lot."

"It's called foreshadowing and logical deduction." Gus snapped. "What does any of this have to do with you and Lassiter…"

When the other man didn't go on, Shawn lowered the phone from his ear and squinted at it, trying to deduce if he'd been cut off. When he figured out that he hadn't been, he placed the receiver back where it belonged and tried not to let his nervousness become audible when he asked, "Gus?"

"Damn, that sounds weird just saying," Shawn knew that his friend wouldn't judge or think any less of him because of his newly discovered sexual orientation. The worst thing that would come of it was Gus acting uncomfortable around him for a while or in certain situations – which Shawn planned on taking full advantage of, as he always did with his best friend's discomfort, because, hello, _fun_.

It was his choice in partners that he was actually at least semi-seriously worried about being judged on. "Yeah," he said now, "I know-"

"How long has that been going on?" Gus demanded suddenly and in a voice that left no room for argument.

"What? Me and Lassie?"

"No, your dad and Lassiter," Gus' sarcasm always made him sound extra 'tough black guy who could take you in a street fight even if I'm five inches shorter than you' and Shawn wasn't sure why - but it always impressed him. "Yes, you and Lassiter."

"Oh," Shawn thought about it, "Ah…remember the Henning's kidnapping case a few months ago?"

"Yeah," Gus snapped, waited, and then got it, "Since _then_?"

"Technically, yeah," No, that was not a sigh he just released. It was a…long exhale. "It's been on and off with a few freak outs thrown in for good measure."

"Was Lassiter…I mean…was he already...?"

Shawn smiled. There wasn't really a polite way to phrase that question.

"He's been experimenting with his sexual preferences since right before he and his wife separated." Shawn thought about leaving this next part out since it was kind of personal, but really – at least when it came to Gus – when had that ever stopped him? "It's actually what broke up the marriage."

"Damn…" Gus exhaled breathily.

"Yup," Shawn continued on in his typical, careless tone, "That pretty much sums it up."

"Does your dad know?" He sounded normal enough, but Shawn knew he'd be insulted and hurt if he found out that Henry had known about this before him.

"Dude," he said lightly, "You're totally interrupting story time."

And yes, Shawn could _hear _the eye roll. "Fine," Gus huffed.

"Great, now where were we?" He asked rhetorically, shifting in his seat a little bit for comfort purposes.

"Bar. Robbery. Guy's with guns." He answered in a clipped tone.

"Right," Shawn took a deep breath, "Guy's with guns."

End Chapter.

A/N: As always, your reviews are encouraged!


	3. Of Hostages and Things Only Shawn

Chapter Three: Of Hostages and Things Only Shawn Could Manage

_**Seven Days Ago…**_

A lot could happen in a three seconds, Shawn mused. Three seconds. _One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi_. It was enough time for a girl to utter _I'm pregnant _or _we need to talk. _Both dreaded phrases in the wide-world of relationships. You could get sucker-punched in the span of three seconds. Or shot, or hit by a car. You could have an epiphany, you could solve a case – well, Shawn could, at least. Google could complete a search in three seconds. Shawn could piss almost anyone off in less than three seconds flat without even trying – though he could make them laugh in that much time, too.

What _couldn't _happen in the span of three seconds, the fake psychic discovered that day, was a complicated string of events. For example, after saying, _"Fred and George over there are about to rob this place." _Three seconds was not enough time for his father and Lassiter to comprehend what he'd said, give him a disbelieving stare, glance over at the men in question themselves and ask Shawn to explain his reasoning for saying such a thing.

And, much more importantly, three seconds wasn't enough time for Lassiter to draw his always present gun.

In fact, his father and his – insert correct phrase for man with whom one occasionally has sex and flirts with here – only got up to giving him a disbelieving stare before one of the red-headed men – they were probably brothers but defiantly not twins – stood up quickly and pulled his own gun out and waved it around, shouting, "Everybody freeze!"

Three seconds, was however, enough time for a mass panic to set in. Everybody in the bar let out some variation of a startled reaction. They ranged from slight jump-in-the-seat-beacsue-I'm-too-drunk-to-really-understand-what's-going-on to full blown horror-movie-scream.

Shawn cringed. She had a particularly high-pitched voice.

The second red-headed man stood up, following the taller boy's lead, and glanced around at everybody quivering in fear of the semi-automatic. Shawn couldn't help but notice that the shorter – and probably younger – of the two looked almost as nervous as the majority of the patrons in the bar. It was doubtful that he'd actually wanted to be a part of this.

"Give me all the money in the register!" Teller, gun-wielding man shouted at the bartender, taking a few steps closer and coming preciously close to the side of Shawn's head with his gun.

The short man with the accent hesitated for only a moment before doing as was demanded of him and punching a few keys to open the register.

Shawn could feel how tense and rigid his father and Lassiter were. Hell, they were practically radiating _on-edge _vibes. The younger man couldn't blame them, but he also couldn't fully share their fear. There was something primal and instinctual in him that kept him from truly panicking in most high-stress situations.

Yeah, sure, he'd freak out after the fact, but intense drama like this seemed to always hone his instincts and thought process. Hell, maybe he could have made a damn good cop after all.

By now, the bartender was shoveling money into the robber-provided garbage bag as fast as he could. Shawn thought for a moment that maybe this would be the cleanest robbery in history. No one would get hurt, Lassie could call it in when dumber and nervous-er were done doing their thing and the cops – and him, their reliable psychic – could catch them and bring them in later.

That, of course, turned into a pipe dream when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. This time, he had less than three seconds to react, before a good-natured, and probably drunk, citizen moved in one fluid motion from his seat at the table to right behind the shorter robber. He'd managed to pick up a glass on his way and the next thing everyone heard was shattering glass.

The events that followed happened in such a quick secession that Shawn didn't really have time to process it all, but the next this he knew, there was a barrel of a gun pressed sharply into the side of his temple.

o0oo0o

_**Present…**_

"Now wait a second," Gus' voice was skeptical and Shawn whined in frustration.

"Whaaaat? Guuuuussss, I'm trying to tell you a story."

"You can't go from shattering glass to gun at your head. There's no segue." His voice was loaded with annoyance, but Shawn heard the underlying worry and fear loud and clear as well, and that was what stopped him from inserting a really cool, albeit made-up, bit right now about alien abductions and Big Foot.

"Fine," Shawn stopped himself halfway through his sigh and glared at the wall in front of him, pretending it was Gus. "From what I remember-"

"You remember everything." His friend cut in.

"Do you wanna hear this or not?" Shawn grumbled, mostly fake-annoyed. He hadn't talked to his best friend in so long that it really was nice to get back to their bickering ways. And even though he knew Gus felt the same way, neither man would ever say anything about it.

"Only if you don't leave giant, gaping holes in your plot."

"What plot? Gus, this really happened, it's not like I'm writing a book here." Shawn laughed at the thought, "Though maybe I should, my life has been interesting enough."

"Shawn, not that many people really wanna follow you from one crazy adventure to the next." Gus argued.

"You do." Shawn grinned when the bald man snapped.

"Just keep talking already."

"Okay," Shawn cracked a few of his knuckles. "Like I said, visual ante guy bashed shorter, gun-less robber guy over the head with a glass. Taller robber turned around, saw what happened. Lassiter had enough time to pull his gun and push my dad out of the way – since he was right in front of him – but then taller guy with the bad teeth turned back around, saw someone pointing a gun at him. Lassiter said, 'I'm a cop, drop it.'"

"Only he didn't drop it?" It wasn't really a question, but Shawn answered anyway.

"Nope. He decided that grabbing me was a much better idea."

o0oo0o

_**Back At Our Crime in Progress…**_

"One step closer and he dies," Fred – let's just call this one Fred – seethed slowly. Shawn was trapped under the barrel of the gun with this guy's forearm wrapped tightly around his throat for good measure.

Only he ever managed to get himself into these types of situations, Shawn reflected absently while trying desperately to think of a way out of this. No one else on the damn planet could walk into a bar with the intension of meeting their secret male lover for drinks and end up in a hostage situation with said male lover and their _father_, of all the inane things.

"I think your buddy might need your help over there," Shawn tried and failed to gesture towards the man lying on the ground, but all that happened was a sharp pain to his head and the gunman uttering darkly, "Shut the hell up."

He turned them around so they were facing the register again. "Give me the bag!"

The bartender complied, holding out the black sack, he just seemed a little confused as to what exactly he was supposed to do with it. He wasn't the only one. Fred's hands were both currently occupied.

Lassiter chose that moment to speak again. "Let him go and drop the gun. You can make it out of here without getting shot."

Shawn always liked it when Lassie got all 'tough-cop' on people. It was sexy to watch. He was a little disappointed now that he would forever associate that deep, sexy, demanding voice to having a gun pressed against his head.

"You're not gonna shoot me," Either Fred was more intelligent than Shawn had given him credit for, or he was just banking on the cop not risking a civilian's life.

Henry was right on the edge of this action as well, but he was staying surprisingly calm and silent. Shawn glanced over at him and saw fear in his eyes. Fear and something almost like guilt.

_Shit_. This was exactly why Shawn didn't like his father around when he was fighting crime. Or – even more so – being a victim of it.

"Let him go." Lassiter's tone was deep and just a little bit shaky, his eyes wouldn't leave Fred. His teeth were clenched and he wasn't really acting in accordance with police procedure. Shawn knew his dad noticed. "Or I swear to God I will kill you,"

_Great, Lassie_. Shawn sighed internally. _That didn't give anything away._

This time Fred ignored him, turning his attention back to Shawn. "Take the money," he solved his earlier semantics problem and the hostage reached his hand out to do what he was told.

"Don't! Are you kidding me? Don't help him!" It was the man who'd knocked George out originally speaking up again in outrage. This guy was either supremely drunk or ungodly idiotic.

"Shut up!" Henry shouted back at the moron.

"Drop the gun!" Lassiter tried again, and if he seemed just a little bit hysterical, well…let's just hope no one noticed.

Shawn inserted his own philosophy. "The guy with gun makes the rules." And he reached out to grab the bag.

Fred seemed satisfied that he'd gotten what he came for and began moving – making sure that Shawn was always facing in Lassiter's direction – towards the door.

"Ah, dude," Shawn tried when they were just about arm's length away from the knob, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

His father's eyes widened in anger, he was probably thinking something along the lines of; _Will you shut the hell up already? Just this once? _Lassiter's arms were quivering and he looked torn between boiling anger, mild panic and so much fear.

Shawn couldn't see Fred's expression, but guessed by the way the gun dug even deeper into his head and the arm tightened around his neck that he wasn't exactly pleased. "What?" He seethed.

The fake psychic used one hand to gesture towards the other red-headed man still passed out on the ground, pausing for a moment to take a deep, painful breath before managing, "Isn't blood supposed to be thicker than a bag full of cash?"

"He ain't my brother," Fred tossed out, almost carelessly, and Shawn felt something in his stomach drop. That had been his bargaining chip. "He's just a kid who got in over his head,"

_Yup, know that feeling. _

"We're leaving now," Fred announced, as if that hadn't been obvious, and started moving them again towards the door.

They made it to the front door, halfway across the parking lot and to a red Sedan. Shawn kept waiting for something to happen – someone jumping in to save the day would have been nice – but it seemed he was alone with Fred.

"Open the door," the man demanded just then, and the fake psychic almost sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. He knew his life wasn't in danger. Typically, if someone's gonna kill you, they're not gonna take their time about it.

Fred wasn't a threat. Well, at least not really. Still, he was the one with the gun, so Shawn did as he was told yet again, cringing a little as the motion of leaning forward and tugging at the handle caused Fred's forearm to press even harder against his neck.

"Toss the money in." Again Shawn complied. Not half a second later, the uncomfortable body heat that had been present behind him for what felt like entirely too long was gone and he was stumbling forward. He just managed to catch himself before he did an impressive nosedive into the concrete.

Fred had slammed the passenger door shut and was now all but sprinting to the driver's side. Shawn wasn't sure what to do; he wasn't even sure what to think. Now that he wasn't a hostage anymore, he had the opportunity to…

But he never managed to even half-form a plan. Because _way less than three seconds _after Fred let him go, there came a loud banging sound from the direction of the bar.

Shawn heard angry shouts, frantic shouts, pounding footsteps and then the unmistakable crack of a gun being fired.

End Chapter.

_A/N: I eat up reviews like Pacman eats those little dots. And when you don't review, it's like getting killed by one of those little ghost thingies. Especially Pinky. I hate Pinky. Don't be Pinky. Review. _


	4. Fire Bad, Tree Pretty

Chapter Four: Fire Bad, Tree Pretty

_**Now…**_

"If you got shot, I swear to God, I'm gonna kill you." Gus' voice was an angry, annoyed low growl.

Shawn shook his head, managing to look almost as bemused as he felt – not that it mattered much over the phone line. "First of all, that makes no sense. Killing me would defeat the purpose of me not getting shot. Second of all, who the hell would have shot me? Freddy-boy was already on the other side of the car and it's not like Lassie-face is gonna use me as target practice."

"Then who got shot?" His tone was frantically infuriated, and Shawn couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I never said anyone got shot."

"But someone did." Sometimes the pseudo-psychic hated how well his best friend knew him.

"What really sucks," Shawn pondered out loud, "Is that we didn't have these kinds of stories when we were kids. Campfire tales of Scary Sherry and old man Morton cannot hold a candle to this crap."

"You were the only one who ever thought Morton was scary, Shawn," Gus said tightly. "The rest of us knew that just because he had a glass eye didn't mean that he was gonna melt us with his super-sonic death rays,"

"Sue me for having an imagination, Mr. Boring Burton," Shawn teased, knowing that only the two of them could make a discussion of gunfire and being taken hostage a joking matter.

And at that thought, Shawn really did want to sigh, because he knew where this story was going and – despite all current evidence to the contrary – it wasn't all fun and games.

"Can you just get back to the part about the gun and the parking lot?" Gus inquired, sounding tired and more than a little weary.

"Oh…fine…"

o0oo0o

_**Seven Days Ago…**_

Shawn gasped for breath as he looked around frantically, trying to process what had just taken place. He was standing by a random car in the parking lot, leaning against it for support, one hand still at his throat, rubbing it absently as he swallowed again and again. There was something about being choked that always got to him.

There wasn't too much time to dwell on it, however, as he caught up with the current situation.

Lassie, his father, the bartender and a few customers from the bar were crowding around the front of the establishment and moving forward. Lassiter was in the lead, holding his gun high. Holding his _smoking gun_ high.

Shawn looked from him – the too many emotions swimming through his gaze that were so hard to see in the night anyways– and then back to the Sedan. Fred was on the ground. Fred was bleeding.

_Shit. _

It sure as hell wasn't concern for the gunman that had Shawn cautiously making his way around to where he now laid spread out on the ground - it was an instinctual thing.

Guy bleeding, needs help.

Fire bad, tree pretty.

It didn't really require a higher brain function.

The blood was coming from a gunshot to his right shoulder, Shawn noted, dropping to the ground beside the man but not touching him. Judging from the distance and the angle that he'd been shot from, the blonde man guessed that the bullet was still lodged in his shoulder somewhere and he'd need surgery.

"Call it in," Shawn heard his father's voice and was actually fairly surprised that when he turned his head both Lassiter and his dad were standing behind him.

The Irishman was on this cell phone a second later, "This is Detective Lassiter with the SBPD," he went on to describe what had happened as quickly as possible, ending with, "I need a bus, suspect has been shot."

Suspect was actually now being cared for by random female patron, she was holding a towel or rag or something cotton-like to Fred's shoulder, stemming the blood flow and probably keeping him from dying.

"What about George?" Shawn spoke for the first time since he'd been dragged into the parking lot with the robber, getting to his feet as he did so, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans as a comfort thing.

"What?" Henry studied his son carefully, probably checking for any signs of brain damage.

"Ah…" Shawn was too worn out to explain his logic on that one, "The other kid. Inside…"

"I cuffed him to the bar," Lassiter spoke up. He'd put his gun back in it's hollister and was now standing so close to Shawn that the younger man could feel his body heat, could almost feel the slight tremors wracking Lassie's body.

Or maybe that was him; perhaps he was the one shaking.

"Good," Shawn swallowed again, his voice coming out scratchy.

"Backup should be here in a few minutes," Lassiter assured, though who he was assuring was up for grabs. Then he said a bit louder, "Everyone's gonna have to stick around and give a full statement."

"Shawn, I want you to get checked out by the paramedics when they get here," Henry's tone was a demand more than anything else, and Shawn thought that, just once, he'd like to see his father not trying to control everything.

"I'm fine," the younger Spencer mumbled; already the sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Your throat's already bruising." Henry snapped, but it was Lassiter who actually reacted to those words. Shawn saw his head snap rather violently towards the fake psychic. More importantly, Shawn saw his father's gaze lock on the detective's.

Something like suspicion settled in his dad's eyes while Lassie's were alight with naught but worry. "You really should get that looked at."

Shawn's second rendition of, "I'm fine," was drowned out by the arriving ambulances, followed shortly by the squad cars.

Within twenty minutes of the ensuing chaos, the ambulance had taken a still unconscious Fred away – Shawn had been right, he did need surgery – Buzz McNab and his current squad car partner had hauled George away in cuffs, deftly explaining to the young man what had happened after he'd been knocked out and why exactly he was currently under arrest.

The Chief had shown up after hearing that her head detective, lead psychic and a retired cop, who, indecently, use to be her senior partner, were all involved in the robbery at Corky's.

Shawn already knew that this case would get no serious media coverage. Who could take them earnestly when all this happened at a place called Corky's, really?

"Lassiter, I want you to go home," Chief Vick was saying now, and Shawn wondered why he hadn't tuned into this conversation before now. Perhaps it'd just started.

"No," the man said at once, but then backed down under Karen's heavy glare. "I mean, I was here, I should-"

"You can write up a full report tomorrow," she offered that as if it were some sort of assurance and Shawn just watched as Lassie's scowl turned to a weary variation of acceptance. "We've got this covered."

When Lassiter nodded his agreement, the Chief gave him one final look of concern before turning away to deal with everything else that needed to be dealt with. Beginning with, "Mr. Spencer, I'm going to need to talk to you."

"You mean I'm gonna have to give a statement," Shawn said resignedly, he'd been expecting this.

"Can't that wait until tomorrow?" Henry and Lassiter spoke these words in almost perfect unison.

They turned to look at each other, sporting a guilty and guarded look respectively. The Chief seemed confused and not in the mood to deal with it. Shawn was just tired.

"No," she shook her head. "It can't. You too, Henry. You can both meet me at the station after I'm done here, if you'd prefer, but you know protocol. It can't wait."

The retired cop nodded curtly, though Lassiter looked rather distraught after his boss walked off in a hurry to deal with the drunker of the witnesses before they passed out and forgot what exactly it was they had witnessed.

"I can give you a ride to the station," Lassie offered after a moment of standing in tense silence with Shawn and Henry.

The younger man opened his mouth to respond but his father beat him to it. "I can do that, Carlton." Henry said tightly, and something about the use of the detective's first name was almost threatening. "I have to go down there myself, too, if you'll remember."

Lassiter was staring the retired cop down when Shawn said in an attempted light tone, "I have my motorcycle."

"No way." Henry snapped. "I don't like you driving that thing under normal circumstances, forget after you've just been held hostage."

"For like two seconds," Shawn pointed out, though his hands were still in his pockets, clenched tightly into fists that no one else could see. "I'm fine."

Lassiter raised a single eyebrow in his direction and Shawn caved at once. Not that anyone needed to know that, mind you.

"I'll give you a ride." Henry said with an air of finality and, despite having already made up his mind to accept, Shawn wanted to refuse out of sheer rebellion. His dad just pissed him off sometimes.

"Fine." He got out between clenched teeth. Silence stretched between the three men again, for several long, tiresome – at least for Shawn – minutes before Lassiter cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Spencer," he tried to bark the name, but didn't quite manage anything past a normal speaking voice, "Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?"

Henry didn't need a second hint, but still he eyed the two younger men seriously for a long time before nodding and stating, "I'll be at my truck."

"Kay," Shawn mumbled, "I'll be right there."

Once they were alone together – well, as alone as two people could possibly be in parking lot full of cops, ambulances and witnesses – Lassiter moved a step, two steps, closer to him. They were only a fraction of an inch away from looking suspicious.

"Are you okay?" He asked in his deep voice. His arm twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch the younger man and was barely restraining himself.

"Sure," Shawn shrugged. In truth, his head hurt, his throat ached and his teeth were clenched tightly, as if he was deeply cold, too frozen solid to even shiver. But now wasn't the time to seek comfort. "I'll live."

Lassie nodded once, but his face gave away exactly how much he didn't buy that. "I'll meet you back at your place tonight, alright?"

Shawn shook his head immediately, "You don't have to do that."

"I know." Lassiter said calmly. "So, I'll see you there?"

Shawn smiled a genuine smile. Their relationship - if one could even call it that – usually didn't stem off into anything too personal or emotionally invading, but the want was always there.

Last month, after Lassiter had dealt with a particularly gruesome crime scene that Shawn had only seen pictures of –and even those had made him kind of queasy - the younger man had noticed the funk it had left Lassie in. So he'd taken it upon himself to show up at the older man's apartment with Chinese takeout and Pineapple upside down cake.

He'd ended up staying for two and a half weeks, falling asleep next to his lover each and every night, and not regretting a second of it. Lassiter had appreciated it, even if he'd said nothing about it, Shawn could tell.

He'd smiled more, left the comics out on the kitchen table when he went to work so the younger man would find them when he got up later in the morning, he'd ordered pizza with half Pineapple and not even cringed when Shawn ate it with gusto. He'd kissed tenderly and cuddled affectionately. He'd shared the blankets without protest. And now, he was returning the original gesture of just being there.

They were growing, Shawn thought absently. Though into what, he had no idea.

"There's a key taped to the underside of the front mat."

o0oo0o

_**Currently…**_

"I gotta piss."

"What? Now?" Gus exclaimed, sounding very much offended at the thought.

"Dude, I downed three cups of coffee this morning," Shawn chucked, "I'm surprised I lasted this long."

"But…"

"Oh, relax," Shawn was already standing up, "I'll be back in two minutes."

Gus sighed. "Fine. At least you didn't leave me with a cliffhanger."

The other man snorted. "Nah, a cliffhanger would be me telling you that about an hour after that conversation with Lassie, my dad sucker-punched me."

"What?!" Gus – as expected – exclaimed loudly.

"Sorry," Shawn snickered, "Nature calls."

So he left the phone where he'd been sitting, Gus' shouts of outrage audible until he closed the bathroom door behind him.

End Chapter.

_A/N: Review? -Looks hopeful- _


	5. The Crappiest Crap We Ever Did Know

Chapter Five: The Crappiest Crap We Ever Did Know

_**At the End of Our Bathroom Break…**_

"You're an asshole, Shawn." Gus seethed vehemently when his friend returned to their conversation.

"Ya love me," the other man laughed lightly in response.

Gus just grumbled something inaudible before moving on towards, "So…sucker-punch?"

"Wouldn't you be pissed if I just made that up?" Shawn asked lightly, settling back into his seat.

Gus, unfortunately, wasn't that gullible. "You didn't make it up."

Shawn ran a hand over his face, tired all of a sudden. "No," he admitted, "I didn't."

"Was it because of you and Lassiter?" It was a valid question, he had to admit.

So he answered, "Ah…kinda."

"Kinda?" Gus echoed. "I never took your dad for a sexist."

"Sexist?" Shawn repeated the word with distain.

"Right…" he seemed to realize his blunder. Funny, it was usually Shawn who couldn't think of the correct word. "Biased?"

"Discriminatory?"

"Never mind," The bald man snapped, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah…"

"Well? That's it? You're gonna leave me there?"

"Oh, come on now, Gus," Shawn cooed, "What fun would that be?"

o0oo0o

_**Six Days Ago (Technically Speaking, Since it's Past Midnight)… **_

It was actually something like an hour and forty five minutes after Shawn left Lassiter in the parking lot with an invitation and means into his apartment, that he and his father found themselves alone again. Well, not so much alone as in 'dark and deserted alleyway' alone, more like alone 'we're in the police station but no one else is currently within twenty feet of us so we might as well label it alone' alone.

"Nice detail about the car," Shawn finally spoke into the silence that had encased the father and son, sticking his hands back into his pockets for a moment. "I didn't notice the plates at all. Hey, you know what?" He suddenly removed his hands and snapped his fingers, "You should have had a vision. Told Chief Vick that the psychic thing's genetic. You always complain that we don't spend enough time together, it could have been like father/son bowling, only, ya know, more fun."

Henry stared at his son. Shawn knew that stare. So he did the only thing he could think to do – he kept talking.

"Seriously, it would have been cool," he raised one hand to his head in a demonstrating manner, "Ah, I'm seeing…Live and let live, Home is where your heart is. Fortune cookie? No, I see stuffing. Thanksgiving? No, cotton mouth. Not edible, I see…a pillow! Pillows with sayings. Needlepoint? Yes, no, wait…A needle, a big needle…hospital? Not quite. I see the skyline, dark clouds. Something about Pluto…stars…space. Ah-ha! It's the Space Needle. Wait, where's the Space Needle? Washington? Right…they must be from Seattle."

"Or I could have done what I did and saved everyone five minutes of their lives by saying, 'Hey, I saw their plates. They're from Seattle.'" Henry's voice matched his stare.

_Crap. Crapcrapcrap. _

Shawn shrugged, "Suit yourself." He rocked back and forth on the souls of his feet for a moment or…oh, eight billion, if his internal clock was running accurately, before he caved, because, let's face it, he always did. "Well, if we're done here, I guess I should be getting home."

"How?" Henry asked at once. Shawn looked up at his father, mildly confused and knowing there was something he was forgetting. "Your bike's at that bar, Shawn. I drove you here."

Friggin' emotional upheavals.

"Right," he nodded, pretending as though he'd known that all along. "Well, you know where my apartment is so maybe we should get-"

"Are you gay?"

Shawn blinked once. Twice. Took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly the same way. So much crap. This was a crapshoot of crap. This was crap squared. This was a pile of manure inside another pile of manure in a truck made of crap in a sewer. Of crap. Crap.

"Ah…"

Henry crossed his arms defensively and Shawn felt the pit of his stomach drop out from beneath him. If there was a list of things that he so didn't need tonight, this would be at the very top of it. Hell, this would be before the very top. This would be on the skyscraper above the top.

"Because you and Detective Lassiter were acting like…like something was going on between the two of you." Shawn gritted his teeth; his father's anger was slowly fueling his own.

"I really don't feel like getting into this tonight, dad." The younger man said shortly, fists clenched as tightly as his jaw. "Can you just take me home?"

He hated needing…anything, from anyone, really. The permanent exception to that rule, of course, being Gus. But with his father it was always doubly – triply – hard.

"Answer my question, Shawn." It was his 'How many hats are in the room?' voice, only magnified intensely to fit the current situation.

"Dad…" and somehow, the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, his posture, and his overall air of dejection tinged with annoyance…it must have given him away.

"Goddamn it, Shawn!" Henry uncrossed his arms so he could throw them out in an exasperated manner. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What? Dad? I'm not _doing _anything." Shawn tried to placate the older man. "I'm just dating."

"Yeah, another guy," Henry snorted angrily. "What is this? Some kind of mid-life crisis? Can't run across the country anymore so you get your kicks…experimenting?"

"Yup," Shawn agreed sharply. "That's exactly what it is. You nailed it." So much sarcasm. "Can we go now?"

"No! Shawn!" Henry shouted. Shawn glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. A few random officers that the fake psychic only knew by sight were glancing subtly towards them, but they averted their gazes the second they saw that Shawn was looking at them. "Explain yourself."

"Well," Shawn's sarcasm was normally light and upbeat. It was how he expressed himself and half the time no one – save Gus – could tell when he was being sardonic and when he was being serious. And sometimes, even Gus admitted that he was at a loss.

But right now, as he was forced into this conversation with the man who had spent so many years oppressing him and disapproving of everything he did, his sarcasm only existed in shades of bitter and angry. "Me and Lassiter were eating this giant bowl of spaghetti at an Italian restaurant, we were sharing and we both started slurping the same noodle. Our eyes locked-"

"Cut the shit, Shawn." Henry swore heavily, taking a step closer. His whole being screamed of intimidation and the want to cause fear. They weren't father and son right now. Hey were perp and cop. Bad cop. And there was no good cop here to even the playing field.

"What do you want me to say, dad?" Shawn deflated, realizing and accepting that there was nothing he could do to make this okay. "I'm gay. You have a gay – or at the very least, bisexual – son. Deal with it." _God knows I am_.

"What are you trying to gain, kid?" Henry continued his ranting, "All this is gonna do is screw up your life. And, more importantly, mess with Lassiter's career."

"_What_?" Out of everything he'd been expecting to hear, that was certainly at the bottom of the list. Because there was always a list.

"I know you, Shawn." Henry seethed. "You can…charm, practically everybody. And that's great while you're playing your little fake-detective game-"

"_Fake_…?"

"But Lassiter has a real job. Real responsibilities."

Shawn breathed out slowly. "Wow…" he managed, "Out of everything you could have said just then…"

"I'm serious, kid," Henry lifted a single finger and pointed it at his son's chest. The younger Spencer almost flinched when it connected with his T-shirt. Almost. "You already screw up enough lives on a day-to-day basis. Do you really want to be responsible for losing Santa Barbara their Head Detective?"

"Okay, one," Shawn began in a tightly controlled angry growl, "What lives, precisely, do I mess up on a day-to-day basis? Because last I checked, catching bad guys and putting them in jail kinda counts as a 'go team, go' as far as the quality of man kind is concerned." He took a short breath but kept talking before the older man got a chance to respond.

"And second, how would me and Lassie making hot, sweet man love cost him his job, exactly?"

"You know as well as I do that a gay cop holds no standing in the force." His eyes turned to slits at the mention of sex. And they stayed that way.

"Dude," Shawn all but shouted. "This isn't nineteen-seventy. No one give a flying crap."

Henry shook his head. "You're so damn naive, kid."

"Would you stop calling me that?" Shawn snapped. "I'm not a kid."

"What are you talking about? You're the most immature person on the planet." His father was holding nothing back, Shawn thought distractedly. He must really like Lassie.

"Why do you care?" Shawn seethed. "It's not like this affects _your_ life. Just this once it would be great if you could just butt the hell out."

"I'm not gonna stand by and watch you drag Lassiter down into your juvenile, slacker life," Henry pushed his neck forward so he was even closer to Shawn. This was a fight if they'd ever had one. "God knows you already haul Gus all over the damn place. Following your half-ass urges to do something 'fun.'" And yeah, he used the air quotes.

"At least I live my life," Shawn matched his father head-on. Even if he was a bit shorter in reality. "I live my life. And Gus' life is more exciting because of me."

"Really? And he thanks you for that, does he?" The older man didn't give his son the opportunity to respond. "Damn it, Shawn. Not everyone can, pr wants to, live the way you do. You and your damn mother. Hopping around from place to place like no one else in the world matters."

"Leave. Mom. Out of this." The anger he'd had before couldn't hold a candle to the rage that now encased him. Shawn tried very hard to never get this angry. And, for the most part, he succeeded. And, for the most part, no one ever brought up the topic of his mother.

"Why?" And the way he said it was almost flippant. He knew how much this affected his son. "You two are peas in a fucking pod. Always have been. It's no reason to drag a good cop down with you."

"What the hell do you know about me? Or mom?" Shawn tried to claw his way out of the anger, the black hole of rage. He just couldn't find a light. Not even a shadow existed in the depth of where he was now. "It's not like you were ever around."

"I raised you, kid." Henry all but shouted.

Shawn matched his tone and increased it an octave for good measure. "You did a crappy-ass job." He informed him. "And I was talking about mom. You were never around for her. You acted like you hated her, and I can't blame her for leaving."

"_Shawn_-"

"Hell, if I'd been allowed to choose, I would have stayed with her." Which was saying a lot, Shawn knew. "Screw you and your-"

"I trained you, and because of that, you do what you do."

"The job that you think's a load of crap." Shawn pointed out. "Wanna know why I left the state when I was eighteen, dad? Because I couldn't stand how controlling you were. You were like that then, and you still are. My relationship with Lassiter is none of your fucking business, and, just for the record, you're the reason mom left in the first place. Your 'always-on-duty' attitude. You couldn't take three seconds away from that act and be a human being. You couldn't, and she left and that's your fault!"

Shawn had practically bellowed the last two words, but it scarcely mattered. Because not half a second after they were out of his mouth, Henry's fist was slamming into the side of his face.

o0oo0o

"Holy, hell," Gus' voice was honestly taken aback, "You guys haven't fought like that for years."

"I know." _Oh, screw it_ – Shawn sighed. Quite heavily, in fact. He damn well deserved it.

"What happened after that?"

"My lip started bleeding," he explained. He wasn't entirely sure what his friend wanted to know so he covered all the basics. "I didn't hit him back, but only because someone had went to get the Chief when we really started bellowing and she walked in just in time to see the brunt of the action."

"Bet she was thrilled." Gus' sarcasm was always so much easier to identify than Shawn's.

"Oh, yeah," the other man chuckled in a way that held very little humor. There was that little bit, though, because his dad getting bitched out by someone a decade younger than him – and Chief Vick, to boot – was an entertaining thought. "She told him to go to his office. And she wasn't messing around. Dad actually listened to her."

"She can be pretty damn scary when she sets her mind to it," Gus agreed. "I wish I could have heard that…discussion."

"Me too," Shawn licked his lips.

"You didn't stay?" He didn't sound all that surprised.

"Nah," Shawn would have shrugged had they been in the same room. "Took off ten seconds later. Bleeding lip, bruised throat. I looked like I walked straight off the set of _Fight Club_."

"What'd you do then?" Gus inquired, ignoring the movie reference. "You didn't have your bike. Damn…you didn't steal your dad's truck did you? Is that why you ran away? Are you holed up in Mexico or something?"

"I didn't run away, Gus," Shawn informed.

"Then where the hell are you?"

"Sorry, buddy," the fake psychic clucked his tongue disapprovingly, "We're not quite to that part of the story yet."

Gus snorted and then demanded, "Well, then keep talking already."

End Chapter.

_A/N: I have to say now that this story is a humor/drama. Emphasis on the drama. There will be some deeper plot lines in here. The bringing up of old issues, new issues, relationship issues, pineapple issues, etc. Just, be prepared. And don't forget to click that purple button down there and tell me what you think. Yeah, that one right there. To your left. See it? Good. Now use it. Now. I'll offer you pineapple. No really, I will. Just wait and see. _


	6. We’ll Just Call it 19191969!

Chapter Six: We'll Just Call it 19-19-1969!

_**Six Days Ago…**_

Shawn had been walking in the opposite direction of the police station for a long while before his anger subsided enough for common sense to kick in. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a long-ago memorized string of digits.

"Lassiter." The detective answered officially.

The younger man sighed, "I need a ride."

"Shawn? Where are you?" His voice was immediately concerned, if not a little suspicious.

"Ah…" the fake psychic looked around for an answer to that incredibly legitimate question. "56th and Pine," he read a street sign.

"You're over two miles away from the station, in the opposite direction of where you live." Lassie's tone was clipped and even more concerned.

Shawn's was something more like absently entertained. "I know," he agreed. "That's just weird. 'Cause usually when I start randomly walking in some direction, my instinctual need for pineapples will take me to the nearest Java Juice. But the closest Java Juice is all the over on 96th, so I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"What happened at the station?" Lassie wasn't in a joking around mood. Which wasn't all the surprising, because he was almost never in a joking around mood. It was weird, because Shawn was _always_ in a joking around mood. How exactly did they fit together, again?

Kinda like how he and Gus fit together; only really, _really_ different because in thirty years of friendship he'd never felt the urge to jump Gus. And besides, it wasn't like Gus and Lassiter were _all_ that similar. Professional? Successful? Yes and yes, but where Gus was flexible, Lassiter was tied to his routines. Gus had the patience of a Saint and Lassiter just…didn't. Lassiter didn't talk like Gus, couldn't always hold up his end of a witty conversation with the younger man. At least, not in the same way as Gus.

But Lassiter was the one Shawn wanted. Shawn wanted to help make the older detective feel alive again. He didn't want to see him become trapped in the never-ending cycle of boring repetitiveness. Because Shawn had been there, and it sucked balls.

But he also wanted something from Lassiter. Something…just something. He didn't know what. He didn't know why. He just knew it was there and that he wanted it. Maybe even needed it. But those thoughts only came late at night, on the cusp of sleep.

"Shawn?" Apparently his thoughts had taken him far away, because Lassiter's voice was unexpected in his ear.

"I need a ride." He repeated.

"Fine," Lassie sighed. "Stay where you are and I'll be right there."

o0oo0o

_**Right in the Here and Now…**_

"I'm still having a hard time understanding how any of this can explain why you disappeared." Gus sounded weary and exhausted. Shawn wondered absently if he'd slept at all after his flight.

The other man thought about the question. He could promise Gus that this all had some relevance to where he currently was, but, at this point, he wasn't sure if his friend would buy it. Hell, if he hadn't lived it, he was pretty sure _he _wouldn't buy it.

"You remember in third grade when we got into that really big fight?" He asked instead.

"Yes." Gus answered impatiently. "Shawn, what does that have to do-"

"Do you remember what we fought about?"

"No," Gus sounded almost insulted. "Not really. Shawn-"

"We fought about pennies." The blonder of the two explained.

"What?"

"Remember? I had that giant jar of pennies that I brought in to show you at recess, but you didn't care." Shawn told the story, wondering if he really should consider writing a book one of these days.

"It was a jar of pennies," Gus, obviously, clearly recalled the event now.

"All from the year 1969, dude, do you know how long that took to pull off?" Shawn asked, exasperated. "Anyway, you wouldn't look at my pennies, so I wouldn't play soccer with you."

"We needed a goalie, Shawn," he seethed in remembrance.

"Then you wouldn't share your chocolate chip cookies at lunch – your mom's famous, double chip, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies," Shawn went on. "Then I didn't save you a seat on the bus and you didn't wait for me the next morning…"

"And we didn't talk for three months," Gus finished. "Until Jeff Larney picked a fight with me and you punched him out."

Shawn smiled, "Yup, that was it."

"Okay, fine," Gus agreed, "But what does that have to do with you…going missing."

"Dude, I'm not missing!" Shawn exclaimed.

"You're Waldo." The other man said.

"What?"

"Everyone knows you're somewhere, they just don't know where."

"Waldo? Really?"

"Where are you, Shawn?"

"What I was going to say," the fake psychic sighed – mockingly, mind you, "Was - that elementary school fight I just nut-shelled? That's exactly what happened the week you were out of town."

"You collected a jar full of vaguely sexual one-cent pieces?"

"No," Shawn rolled his eyes. "Metaphorically, that string of events that led to our longest fight ever, is exactly what happened."

"Where'd you learn the word metaphorically?"

"Word-A-Day Calendar." Shawn answered as if that should have been obvious. "Duh."

"So where are we now?" Gus inquired, "Metaphorically?"

"I think we're somewhere around the point where I told Jake Malison that I thought your feet smelled." Shawn laughed at Gus' outraged _humph_ before continuing on with his story.

o0oo0o

_**Back Then (Still Six Days Ago)…**_

"Spencer!" Lassiter called from his rolled down window. The younger man quickly rounded the red car and opened the passenger side door. Sliding into the seat made him want to sigh.

A comfortable, relieved, what-a-fucking-long-day-and-thank-God-it's-over, sigh. "Hey, Lassie," he rounded his head to look at his…very, very good friend. "What's hang-"

"What the hell happened to your face?" The detective hesitated for a moment before giving in to his want and raising his right hand, gently cupping Shawn's face and rubbing a thumb over the now-dried cut on his lip.

Shawn's natural instinct was to lean into that touch and, for some reason – be it stress, exhaustion or just a roundabout acceptance – he didn't fight that. He closed his eyes and sighed just a little.

"Shawn," Lassie's voice was almost a whisper, causing the other man to want to shy away from the complete vulnerability and seriousness that existed in this moment. "What happened at the police station?"

And in that moment - with its vulnerability and seriousness - there was so much…just so much, that the younger man couldn't fight his natural inclination to answer. To answer honestly. Because if he couldn't run - and shit, he really did want to run. But he wasn't going to, or he couldn't or didn't want to, or something - so he was going to be here. Really, he was going to do this. "Me and my dad... had a little fight."

Lassiter's eyes grew big and he pulled his hand away. Shawn clenched his teeth a bit as he felt the loss.

"And he punched you?" It was hard to pluck a specific emotion out of the older man's tone. Shawn wasn't sure if he was outraged, insulted, vengeful, in shock…the list was actually quite long.

"We got into it pretty bad," Shawn had to admit.

"Over what?" And there was defiantly fear in his voice this time.

"Oh, this and that," Shawn shrugged and lifted one hand up to scratch absently at the back of his neck. "You and me and the police force and being gay and my mom and my ability to charm everybody and my mom and responsibilities and then my mom some more and when that wasn't quite enough I kinda figuratively kicked him in the balls so he punched me in the face." He shrugged again. "Really, if you think about it, balls versus face, he got the short end of the stick."

"He's not bleeding," Lassie spoke quietly, somberly. "He figured it out, then? About us?"

"Yup," Shawn rubbed his neck some more. "I think _about us _is pretty much out in the open. Hell, I didn't think about it before, but we were at the police station and we were screaming pretty loud so I wouldn't be surprised if _about us _got out there, too. Though, why my dad chose to have that fight in the police station in the first place is so completely beyond me. Usually when it has the potential to be embarrassing - for him, anyways - he keeps it somewhere private. I really don't think there could be anywhere less private than that station. It's like a mini little high school in that place. Though really, that could be said of just about everywhere. I've worked, like, every job there is to work and there wasn't a single place that didn't have some kind of gossip mill. My favorite was that airport in Quebec. I could understand the French gossip just by _how _they said certain things. Elle portait ce _qui_? She was wearing _what_? I-"

Quite suddenly Shawn found himself unable to breathe, what with Lassiter's lips over his own; softly invading, gently pressing - quieting. Calming.

The kiss didn't last for long, because Shawn had already been so out of breath to start with, and soon they were pulling away. "You babble when you're upset." Lassiter mumbled. Their faces were still close together, foreheads touching, and one of Lassie's hands was resting on his upper arm comfortingly.

"I just babble," Shawn corrected. "It's my default setting."

Lassie smiled despite himself, even chuckled a bit, before licking his lips and commenting, "We should probably get home."

Shawn pulled in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. We probably should."

o0oo0o

_**Gus' Opinion, Ladies and Gentlemen…**_

"That sounds…" Gus trailed off, "So not like you."

Shawn laughed a taken aback laugh. "What? The babbling? That sounds exactly like me."

"No," he heard Gus shift in his chair and take somewhat of a hesitant breath. "The willingly being in a real relationship."

"How are you un-willingly in a real relationship?" He quipped.

"Shawn,"

"I know, I know," the other man caved. "Don't take us for a chick-flick just yet." He warned. "It gets kind of…well, let's just say…Lassiter didn't give me any chocolate chip cookies."

"Was that a reference to our third grade fight, or something else I really don't want to think about?" Gus sounded vaguely queasy and Shawn just grinned.

"Our fight," he admitted, "But what a very downstairs-brain train of thought." He chuckled. "Heh. I rhymed."

"Shawn…" Gus sighed wearily.

"Right, okay, don't need to tell me twice."

"More like four-hundred and eighty-seven times," the bald man grumbled.

Shawn laughed, "Oh…you…"

End Chapter.

_A/N: This chapter was actually gonna be a lot longer and explain a lot more, but, for some reason, every time I start writing Gus and Shawn, they just take up pages and pages more then they're supposed to. No, in actuality, I know the reason. It's because me and my best friend are so much like Shawn and Gus that it's just so damn easy for me to write them, and I love writing them. And I babble. Kinda like I'm babbling now. Sorry. Did I mention please review? No? Oh, sorry. Please review. _


	7. The Greatest Puzzle of All

_A/N: Don't get too excited…I don't have my computer back yet – though it is safely in the hands of the Geek Squad at Best Buy – I'm just using the free time I don't really have in between writing my Anthro paper and doing my Sociology homework to type this out. A whole lot of this story is now scribbled in a notebook. I don't know when I'll actually get my computer back, and I really don't have much free time – it took me three days to type this chapter out, if that gives you an idea – but I will try my hardest to keep my updates at least semi-reliable. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter._

Chapter Seven: The Greatest Puzzle of All 

_**Still Gus' View…**_

"Shawn," Gus began, not three seconds after he'd demanded that Shawn keep on rolling with the blabbering.

"You know, at this rate, we may very well be here forever." The pineapple-loving man couldn't help but mock his friend's seeming inability to make up his mind. "Seriously, you're worse than Patrick with your decision making."

"Patrick?" The bald man got distracted from whatever it was he was going to say. Shawn was good at distracting people – be it intentional or not.

"Dude…" Shawn dragged out, "The slightly brain dead starfish from Sponge Bob Square Pants?"

"That stupid cartoon you Tivo?" The man on the other end of the phone snorted in an oddly sophisticated manner. "_Please_. My taste in television is a little more mature than that."

"This coming from the guy who pouted for a month when he missed American Duos." Shawn's snort was significantly less sophisticated, but he was pretty sure he got his point across.

"Hey," Gus snapped, "It was the finale, Shawn. The _finale. _And you made me miss it."

"We had a case," the other man pointed out. "And you're the one who forgot to Tivo it."

"I had a season pass set up," Gus reminded angrily, "Someone messed with the plasma."

"Can you blame me for wanting to know what would happen if I pressed all the red buttons on the remote at the same time?" Which, to him at least, was a very legitimate question.

"Yes." Gus answered snippily, but then took a deep breath and Shawn was sure that, for now at least, that particular remembrance would be left in the past. "And, all I was going to say…"

"Yes, Patrick?"

Shawn knew that Gus was being serious when he ignored the quip. The following serious voice – the damn thing should have a patent, really – make it painfully obvious as well.

"…you know that you're dad was wrong, right?" And Shawn let the contradictoriness of that sentence go, just because he knew where the other man was headed with this. "About everything that he said."

"_God knows you already haul Gus all over the damn place…Really? And he thanks you for that, does he?" _

Shawn had to admit that that bit of his father's rant had hit…okay, that was a lie. The whole thing hit pretty damn close to the bone – emotionally speaking. But bringing Gus into it was an extreme – and never seen before – low.

He had, in truth, been hoping that by sharing that part of the story, he would get some kind of reassurance from his life-long partner in crime. Because, with Gus, silence on an issue always pointed towards something bad and dreadfully foreshadowingish. Which, granted, wasn't a word. But it should be.

So when Shawn spoke again, it was lightly and gratefully. "Yeah, buddy, I know."

"Good." His normal, not-so-serious-but-kind-of-clipped-from-impatience voice returned. That was all that needed to be said on that subject, really. "Now, can we get back to this story before we get too much older?"

"Gus…" Shawn smiled genuinely, even if his friend couldn't see it, he had a feeling that it was audible in his tone, "We're never gonna get old."

_**Still Six Days Ago…**_

Back at Shawn's apartment, the pseudo-psychic was feeling much better about life in general than he had been a few hours previously – thanks in large part to the hot shower he'd grabbed the second he'd made it through the doorway, the old T-shirt and boxers he was now sporting and the presence of a certain detective.

That detective, by the way, was now hearing exactly why and how everything would turn out alright.

"My dad'll get over it," Shawn was saying, "He'll apologize…maybe. Probably."

"I can't believe you're defending him." Lassiter shook his head as he took a seat next to his lover on the couch. "After he-"

"He just doesn't do well with change." Shawn interrupted before that thought could be completed. He himself didn't want to get into the deep, psychological issues behind his current choice of words.

"Is that…" and for probably the first time the younger man could remember, Lassiter's voice sounded almost tentive, "…why it took him so long to get divorced?"

Shawn felt fondly for his lover just then, knowing that – for whatever insane reason – his personal history had become somewhat of an interest for the older man. But still, he said only, "Kinda…that's a much longer story."

Lassiter nodded, seemingly accepting that answer, before letting his head fall back on the couch he was seated on and groaning marginally. "So…" he began, "what are the chances the whole police force heard…about us?"

"Seventy-thirty," Shawn answered lightly, at once. "Depending on how much of an echo there really is in that hallway." He smiled as he moved in closer to his lover.

"Seriously?" Lassie responded in that typical Lassie way. See; dryly.

Shawn tried, for the sake of all things grown-up, to remember that Lassie really did have a job and a reputation at that place and while the fake psychic may not care – or believe it important – what other people thought, Lassiter was not him.

The older detective was very set in his ways, very fond of his routines. Shawn couldn't blame him for caring.

"Some people heard, Lassie," Shawn made an effort to keep his voice calm and level – not something he attempted often or in a non-mocking manner, but he was trying. That was the best he could do. "But I think it was just a few rookies."

"And the chief."

Shawn couldn't help but roll his eyes – though in his defense, he kept it only semi-mocking dramatic. "The chief doesn't care."

"Your dad does," the older man said again.

"He's not gonna tell anybody." Shawn pointed out, shaking his head. "Like I said, Lassie, he'll get over this. The chief's not gonna give a crap. No one else knows or cares if they do." He took a deep breath. "Don't worry, man, everything will be fine."

Lassie snorted, but reached a hand out and lightly grabbed Shawn's, "That's what you think about everything."

The younger man smiled, "And have I been wrong yet?"

"Just because the world doesn't end, doesn't mean that everything's fine." There was an almost playful quality to his words, but Shawn could sense the seriousness, the worry and even the fear, leaking through in tiny increments.

Thus he tried very hard to replicate Lassie's playful, almost careless tone, and leave the rest alone. Because who really needed any of that, anyway? "It means you're worrying about nothing."

He took a deep breath and had the sudden inclination to rest his head on the taller man's broad shoulder – and he didn't fight it. "We're here. We're all right. We've got each other…" Shawn realized how sappy and out-of-character this sentiment was becoming and decided quickly to do something to rectify that. "…and pineapples and Sponge Bob Square Pants and alcohol. Plus, the bad guys are in jail. It's fine."

Lassiter just grunted.

Shawn sighed a sigh that wasn't quite the one he detested with a passion, but it was close. Too close, really, but he could just chalk it up to extenuating circumstances and what he was about to say. "If it makes you feel any better… I haven't told Gus yet."

Lassie started a little, "About us?" He seemed surprised at first when Shawn nodded, but went on to say, "And how exactly would that make me feel better Not that I need something to make me _feel better,_ as it is. I'm not a child."

"Of course not," Shawn's smirk was fleeting. "And I just meant…I haven't even told Gus yet. I hate that my dad found out just as much as you do."

Shawn felt Lassiter's chest deflate as he let out a deep gulp of air. The younger man lifted his head and eyed his lover. Lassie looked a mix of sad, affectionate and trying so hard to keep his stoic mask of…stoicism in place.

"How's your neck?" Were somehow the words that made it out of the older man's mouth.

Shawn smiled. "I've had worse." He shrugged. "How's your gun hand?"

"I…probably shouldn't have shot him, huh?" And if he hadn't looked so guilty and humbled – not two things you ever saw on the Irishman often – just then, Shawn might had to have laughed at him.

But all he managed was to reach up and fist the front of his T-shirt lightly, pulling just hard enough to get his point across.

They leaned in together and kissed in a lightly intense manner, where they both knew they wanted it and they both knew how bad, but they had the time they were willing to take to examine and appreciate that want in full.

"Thank you," Shawn mumbled between their kisses, "For catching the bad guy."

Lassie chuckled; Shawn felt it deep in his chest and couldn't quite fight the urge to sigh slightly, contently, as it reverberated through his chest. They resumed their kissing and soon the older detective was pulling the younger one on top of him, leaning back against the couch, positioning them horizontally.

Shawn loved the feel of another man beneath him, and in fact, was quite disappointed that it had taken him so many years to figure out that this was what he wanted. See, the playful young man had always loved sex, and he'd always had it with women because that was just… how it was.

What he'd never understood was why the women always seemed to get more out of the sexual encounters than he did. Sure, he'd always found them fun, enjoyable – he was a flirter by nature and it felt good when that paid off. But he'd never put any real stock in relationships – what they meant on any level past that of a physical one.

Turns out that he'd just never considered exactly what it felt like to be this close to man. There were no soft, delicate curves here. No instinctual want or need to be gentle.

Lassiter was all hard planes and rough dips and incredibly angular angles. And Shawn loved every second of it. Every inch of it. Because he'd finally found what he'd been missing.

And if his father, the chief, Juliet, the police force as a whole or even Gus couldn't understand that – this – than that was okay. That was fine. He could deal. He'd dealt with worse throughout the course of his life, and this time he had Lassie here to keep him tethered to reality.

With a sudden realization that wasn't really all that sudden, Shawn figured it out. He pieced it together like the magnificent puzzle it was and could finally see the whole picture that it presented.

Carlton Lassiter was stability. A strong foundation. Something he could lean against and admit needing and wanting and having in a way that was so much different from anything he'd ever experienced before.

In one brilliantly clear moment – an euphony, if you will – he understood. He understood why Gus kept dating, why he went through all the drama and uncertainty to try and find again what he'd had in college with Sara. He understood why his father wasn't satisfied with memories alone. Why one-night stands weren't all that he needed after all.

He'd just stumbled across an understanding of the greatest mystery of life. And this puzzle reaped a larger foundation of rewards than he had ever before experienced.

Because Shawn Spencer just figured out that he was in love with Carlton Lassiter.

Breaking their kiss to study the face of the man who had aided him in his revelation seemed the most natural thing to do at that moment. Breathing labored, lips swollen and parted, Lassie stared back for several lifelong seconds before asking – mumbling – almost – completely and totally – gently, "What?"

Shawn smiled. He didn't grin or smirk or quirk an eyebrow or make a funny face – he smiled, and spoke the only word that would come to him, "Bedroom?"

And all was right with the world – every crisis averted, every tragedy irrelevant and every single human being on the planet as happy as he was at that very moment – when Lassiter whispered hoarsely,

"Yes."

End Chapter.


	8. The Green, Yellow, Hairy Thing

_A/N: Hey, sorry for the delay. You can go ahead and read my profile page for my blanket apology and explanation, but the bottom line is; my schedule sucks, therefore I won't be able to update nearly as often as in the past. Sorry;-(_

_About this chapter; I did something in this chapter that I'd been planning to do for a while now, but I'm almost certain its never been done in a Psych fic before. I just wanted to say now that, in this chapter, I don't really say too much about it or justify or explain it; but I will. Please don't flame me because of it, because I really think it's an idea that should be taken into consideration and I'm going to do it without making them all OOC. This will make more sense once you read the chapter. Just remember to trust me; because I do know what I'm doing. _

o0oo0o

_Previously:_

_Because Shawn Spencer just figured out that he was in love with Carlton Lassiter._

_Breaking their kiss to study the face of the man who had aided him in his revelation seemed the most natural thing to do at that moment. Breathing labored, lips swollen and parted, Lassie stared back for several lifelong seconds before asking – mumbling – almost – completely and totally – gently, "What?"_

_Shawn smiled. He didn't grin or smirk or quirk an eyebrow or make a funny face – he smiled, and spoke the only word that would come to him, "Bedroom?"_

_And all was right with the world – every crisis averted, every tragedy irrelevant and every single human being on the planet as happy as he was at that very moment – when Lassiter whispered hoarsely,_

"_Yes."_

Chapter Eight: I would have preferred the green, yellow hairy thing in the back of the fridge, thanks

_**Now…**_

"…wow…" was all Gus seemed capable of. It was barely a breath and Shawn was almost certain that he'd read his best friend's mind when he'd plucked the word out.

"Yeah," he agreed, maybe with just a hint of bitterness. Less than a hint. More like a dash. A subtle dash. Not even worth mentioning. "Wow."

"I've never heard you say you were in love before," Gus' voice was still very far away and Shawn wondered, just a little, why it was so hard for his friend to grasp this. "At least not with anything that doesn't have two wheels and a high mortality rate."

_Right_, Shawn thought to himself, _that might be reason number one_. He chuckled because of how very right Gus was. "Yup."

"Oh, God…" His friend sounded suddenly exactly as he did every time they watched a horror movie together and Shawn wanted to roll his eyes. And did, just because he could. "What went wrong?"

The eye-rolling man clucked his tongue, "Was that the foreshadowing thing again? 'Cause I was trying to keep that to a minimum."

"Something like that." Gus sounded annoyed, scared and sympathetic all at once and for the life of him, for as long as he lived, Shawn would never be able to figure out how his best friend managed to fit so many emotions in so few words.

It was kind of the core of who Gus was.

"So, what?" Shawn inquired lightly, "You're the psychic now?"

Gus sighed his grown-up, emotionally-packed sigh and said, "I just don't think I'd be talking to you over the phone right now if the story ended there."

"In all fairness, buddy," Shawn admitted only a little dejectedly, "That part of the story is still playing itself out."

o0oo0o

_**Six Days Ago (The Next Morning)…**_

"What's this?" Lassiter's inquisitive voice broke through Shawn's half-awake, early morning, post-coital haze and the younger man lifted his head a bit lazily to see what his lover was talking about.

The older man was standing in the doorway of Shawn's bathroom holding a pill bottle in one of his hands, his head titled to the side. Shawn saw it, and somewhere deep in the back of his mind he knew – but he was too tired and too rooted in denial to accept it and put it together.

So he shrugged and yawned, "I dunno. Tylenol? Come back to bed." Because the sheets were cold without him there. And after being so warm all night, cold was something he just didn't want to go back to.

When Lassie spoke again his voice wasn't his normal 'I just rolled out of bed so all my defenses are gone and I'm completely and undeniably cute' voice. It was his 'head detective, tough cop, I just found incriminating evidence and you're now my lead suspect' one.

Four little words told the story of why. "The bottle says fluoxetine." Which every grown adult with any kind of basic knowledge knew was the medical word for _Prozac. _

Shawn wanted to hang his lead low just then, but couldn't because he was stuck in this moment with not even a chance of escaping, and nothing would change it and deep down he knew it. Just like he'd known the moment Lassie hadn't rushed back to bed after the toilet flushed, after he'd seen the bottle in his hand.

"It's Gus's," Shawn's lie was instinctual after so many years of lessons, learning and messing up, "He keeps some of his work stuff over here, my place is closer to this one part of his route."

Lassiter's eyes met his dead on; there was a steady calmness about his gaze that was almost frightening to see with the context they were currently in.

"The bottle's prescribed to you."

Shawn shrugged. He had nothing to offer to that.

"Are these yours? Are you on….antidepressants?"

_Shit. Shitshitshit. _This was why Shawn never took Lassiter back to his place; there were secrets and doubts and regrets living at his place – and something green, yellow and hairy that had been in his fridge since the second he moved in, but that was a completely different story.

Lassie was still staring at him, and Shawn had a million different lies waiting at his beck and call;

_It was a dare._

_It's for a friend._

_It was a fluke doctor's visit. _

_Remember that dinosaur thing when you all thought I was crazy? _

_It was for a case. _

_Gus made me do it. _

Instead, he didn't speak. He didn't think, at least not too hard; but he didn't speak – not at first. And when he did, he'd made the decision to not lie. He didn't know why, but he kind of thought it might be right.

"Yeah, I am." He wanted nothing more than to stand up and face his lover head-on for this – height be damned – but the sheets were still warm and he knew that if he were to get up now, he'd never get this back.

Lassiter was quite for a long time; their eyes drifted and met and drifted again. There were no patterns here, nothing was predictable or for sure. Shawn lived his life in moments like this. He wondered why it was bothering him now.

"For how long?"

Shawn thought about lying again. He considered it seriously but in a way that wasn't at all serious.

_I never took any. _

_I sold them to kids on the side of the street, wanna arrest me now? _

_I dumped the other half down the drain on accident. _

He could still take it all back.

"Since I was nineteen." He answered instead, and he still didn't really know why. "About a year after I left Santa Barbara."

Lassiter nodded, looked for a moment like he was going to say something more, something important, he even opened his mouth to do so; but at the last possible second he changed his mind and turned around, disappearing into the bathroom again.

This time Shawn heard the opening and closing of the medicine cabinet, the rattling of the taboo pill bottle as it was placed back on its shelf. There were long moments of silence before Lassie reappeared.

"Lassiter," Shawn tried as the older man grabbed his pants off the floor and began pulling them on, not making any sort if eye contact with his younger lover.

He wasn't acting like he was in a hurry, he wasn't making a dash for the front door. He was simply getting dressed in a calm, cool, collected manner. And not making eye contact.

"Carlton," Shawn tried again, hating how pathetic his voice came out, hating how he used Lassie's first name without meaning to, hating what that meant and what they both knew that meant.

"I've got to get to the station," the older man mumbled, pulling on his second shoe. The worst part was Shawn knew he wasn't lying. He knew the incident from last night would become Lassiter's case and the head detective truly needed to get to work.

But with the new revelation of that morning, everything took on a supremely deeper meaning and Shawn didn't know whether he should be insulted, hurt, annoyed, angry…

As it turned out, it didn't really matter. Because less than a minute later, Lassiter was out of the bedroom, leaving in his wake only a simple and mumbled, "See ya," and a second after that Shawn heard the front door open and close.

End Chapter


	9. Almost

Chapter Nine: Almost

_**Back to now…**_

"Wait just a second," Gus sounded just about as angry as Shawn had expected him to, and then some. It was comforting, in a completely non-joking kind of way that Shawn would never verbalize, to know that even after all these years his best friend was so protective. Even if Gus didn't fully understand why the fake-psychic was doing what he was with the older man, why he cared. The point was Shawn did care, so by default, Gus did, too. "He just found the pills and ran? What a fuck-"

"Gus," Shawn stopped his protective, angry best friend before he said something in his protectiveness and anger that Lassiter probably didn't deserve. "He kind of had a right to be upset. I mean, we'd been…whatever, together, for months and I'd never mentioned it."

"That doesn't excuse it," his friend snapped.

Shawn sighed; Gus was the only person in the world besides Lassiter and Shawn himself who knew about the antidepressants. The fake psychic knew it would be too difficult for anyone else to understand. His personality now didn't even hint at the idea of moderate to sometimes almost severe depression, but no one else had known Shawn in his teen and early twenties; even he and his father hadn't really been speaking at the time. Only Gus knew about the bouts of depression that plagued his friend. Gus was the only one who had ever come close to understanding the intricate anomaly that was Shawn Spencer.

His inability to sit still, to stay in one place for too long, his boredom and – in a way – even his energy; it was all only leftover shadows of the way it had been before. Shawn had left Santa Barbara right after high school because he hadn't been able to stand the emotions that – he'd believed at the time – were a result of his still living in his hometown.

Memories of his father's lousy parenting, his parent's incredibly nasty divorce – which he'd been smack dab in the middle of, thank you very much. His mother's struggle with drinking, drugs and abusive boyfriends – the way she'd always come running back to Henry when the real world got too real again. It was too much for the eighteen-year-old with the wild spirit and the burning longing to make it all mean nothing.

So he'd left as soon as he could. Regretting that Gus couldn't come with him while at the same time glad that his best friend hadn't been there to witness his…breakdown. Because there wasn't another word for it.

It was a friend – a friend with benefits, if one wanted to get technical – that he'd had in one of the twelve states he'd lived in, at one of the fifty seven jobs he'd had, that had first suggested the chemical help.

He'd dismissed it at first, but the idea had gotten stuck in his mind; and, as was almost always the case with best friends, it was a conversation with Gus that had paved the way for this lifelong decision.

_Shawn was living in Colorado. He was nineteen, living with three roommates in a rundown house and teaching beginner's snowboarding lessons during the day while his nights were filled with drinking and doing other such things with the friends he'd made here – because he always made them. _

_He'd been feeling particularly lonely that night with too much vodka in his system and his regrets almost physically painful. _

_So he'd called Gus. _

"_Shawn?" His friend had answered his phone and whether it was caller ID that had alerted him to who was on the other line or if it was just that no one else would ever call that late at night, Shawn never did find out for sure. _

_He didn't care much and responded all the same, "Hey, buddy. What's shakin'?" _

_He heard the unmistakable sound of bedsprings creaking and quiet, whispered, inaudible words before Gus spoke again moments later. _

"_Shawn? It's three in the morning." _

Whoops. _"Yeah, well, it's earlier here."_

"_An hour earlier," Gus mumbled. There was more mumbling in the background, obviously not directed at him, but Shawn heard the recognizable tone of a female voice. _

"_Gus," Shawn spoke affectionately, "do you have a girlfriend?"_

_This time the other man's voice was louder, more clear, Shawn assumed that he'd left the bedroom and was now standing in the hallway of his dorm, or common room or whatever it was they called it in colleges. "No." He paused. "Kind of. What's up? Why are you calling?"_

"_What?" Shawn went with mock offended, "Can't a guy call his bestest bud for no reason? Just to say 'Hi, how's it goin?' I've only talked to you once since I moved out of Washington. I wanted to check in." _

_There was a long pause and then, "Are you drunk?"_

_Shawn considered it. "I was," he admitted, "But I think most of the drunken parts have worn off by now." _

_Because he was indeed standing outside in the freezing cold Colorado night clad in nothing but boots, jeans and a sweatshirt to keep him warm. _

"_Are you okay? Do you need money?"_

_Gus sounded genuinely worried and not at all angry about the late night call. That had sobered Shawn up even more and he'd stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans, using his shoulder to hold the phone in place. "Nah," he said lightly, "I'm good."_

"_Then what's going on?" _

_Shawn considered the question, "I almost got arrested the other day," he shared, "I was driving a truck that wasn't mine." _

"_Were you drunk?" Because Gus knew his friend's biggest vice, and what he'd been struggling with so much in the past few years. _

"_A little," he admitted again, "But I passed the breathalyzer, got a ride home in a squad car. Jeremy was pissed I left his truck on the side of the road." _

"_Maybe you should come home." Gus' voice was so tentive, but Shawn could do nothing but laugh._

"_And prove my dad right? No way." _

"_Shawn-"_

"_This girl I met," he interrupted, not really sure why but knowing he had something he almost wanted to say, "She's…she's on antidepressants." He blurted that last part, and quickly fished into his back pocket and pulled out a cigarette, using his other hand to light it with the lighter that had been stored in his front right pocket. _

_Gus remained silent and Shawn took that as his cue to keep going, and after the first drag off his Newport he was almost ready to. "We were hanging out, drinking, and I started telling her about…well, me, my life." _

"_You do get chatty when you're drunk," Gus commented, voice carefully neutral._

_Shawn snorted, "She thinks I need them." _

"_Drugs?"_

"_Yeah," Shawn let out a deep breath, watching as it became visible in the night, twirling around his cigarette smoke and drifting away. _

"_Huh." Was all Gus said. _

"_What?" Shawn laughed nervously, dangling his cigarette to the side, "You're not gonna say that that's a crazy idea, that I don't…I'm not that messed up." _

"_Didn't Mrs. Prendee suggest the same thing?" Gus referred to their high school guidance councilor and an incident that had taken place at the beginning of their senior year. _

"_She said I needed to see a shrink, too." Shawn reminded, "She also sent a letter home to my dad about it, who then proceeded to spend a few hours lecturing me on how only weak bastards resort to pills to make them happy." _

_Gus sighed a deep, knowing sigh that sounded far too grown up for the nineteen-year-old. "Your dad…isn't always right." _

"_No shit." Shawn grumbled, taking a deep drag on the half a Newport he suddenly remembered was in his hand. He'd quit smoking a while back. Really. He had._

"_Shawn…" Gus began again, "Are you…why'd you bring this up?"_

_Only the colder man couldn't answer that question. So he took another drag off his rapidly diminishing cigarette and waited. _

"_I think it might be a good idea," Gus continued when he realized his friend wasn't going to respond. "I think…I think maybe you need help." _

"_Gee, thanks," Shawn chuckled dryly. _

_He hadn't known what he'd been expecting to gain from this phone call, but he was pretty sure he wanted his best friend of so long to side with him, not some random girl that Shawn himself had only known a few weeks. _

"_Listen, Shawn," Gus began forcefully, "I've been taking a couple classes-"_

"_That is what college is for." _

_The other man completely ignored his interruption, "Some psychology classes, and some science ones that focus a lot on…on medication. Pharmaceuticals. I've been learning a lot about this, about depression and antidepressants." _

"_I'm not depressed." Shawn argued._

"_I think you know that's a lie." It wasn't too terribly often that these two best friends were so completely serious…about anything. But Gus refused to treat this like the joke Shawn was so desperately trying to make it into, and his solemn attitude was contagious. _

"_One of my professors is a pharmaceutical rep, and he keeps a lot of his samples in his office, to use in class," Gus took a deep breath and Shawn almost knew what was coming, and he was almost hopeful. "I could probably swipe some samples for you." _

_Shawn laughed for real at that, trying to squash the almost want, and almost need he felt. "You, Mr. morraly-consious-can't-even-steal-a-candy-bar-when-we-were-kids-Guster is going to risk getting kicked out of college to swipe me some pills?"_

"_Yes." There was something so strong and sure and powerful in his voice right then that Shawn stopped smiling immediately and let the butt of his Newport fall to the ground and sizzle in the snow. _

_God, how he hated being a grown-up. _

"_If you'll promise me that you'll take them. I…I can get them for you." _

"_God, dude, you sound like my dealer." He quipped, because he had nothing else left at this point to defend himself with. _

"_Do you think you need them?" Gus snapped. _

_Shawn was taken aback by the anger, the aggravation, the worry in his friend's voice, was almost scared by somber this whole call had become. Nevertheless, though, he thought about it – he figured he owed Gus, maybe even himself, that much. _

_Kate had told him that what he was feeling everyday, in the morning when he woke up and couldn't fight it away with work or alcohol especially, just wasn't normal. Now, Shawn had never had a particularly high regard for normal, in fact, he'd tried for all his life to stay as far away from it as possible. But not like this. _

_He longed for his father's constant disapproval and the confined, suffocating feeling of his old home just because it was familiar. HE wanted what he hated, because that was what he knew – and that just wasn't right._

_The time in his life that he was supposed to be enjoying above all else – right now – was making him miserable. And he didn't know why. _

_It was like how it'd been at home, only a thousand times worse and he knew – deep down in his gut, that place that didn't lie – he knew that going back home now would only make it a thousand times worse than that. _

_He'd tried drinking and a few illegal drugs, he'd tried casual sex and random fun, and he wansn't miserable all the time – just enough to make it so hard. Too hard. _

_He was officially and completely out of options and – logical man that his father had trained him to be – he knew it was time to throw in the towel. To give up. To ask for help. _

"_Shawn?" His friend's voice was quiet, sympathetic, almost scared. The other boy had only ever heard that voice a handful of times before and somehow hearing it now drove everything home. Figuratively speaking, of course, because in reality, he was on his own. _

_And he was failing. _

"_Yeah, Gus," He admitted the truth finally, in a soft, almost scared voice that mimicked his friend's yet was such much different, because this was Shawn Spencer admitting for the first time in his young life, "I think I do need help." _

End Chapter


	10. My Brain, My Rules

_**A/N**__: I know, I suck. I suck big time. I haven't updated in forever. But I got all distracted, failing classes and moving out and, ya know, life. And then the writers went on strike and I didn't watch Psych forever and I kinda don't have a TV anyway. But then I discovered the wonderful world of where you can buy episodes of TV shows - say…Psych - for two dollars each and I got to see the end of the season. (Who else thought Shawn looked weird with all that make-up in the 'I'm a Spanish actor, now' episode?) Anyway, I got back in the grove and I'm dedicating this chapter to anyone who's still reading this story even though, again, I suck. _

Chapter Ten: My Brain, My Rules

_**Now…**_

"You know," Shawn came back from the memory easily, it was one he thought of from time to time anyway, "I've been on those things for so long now, would it really make a difference-"

"Don't go there." Gus snapped, tone eerily reminiscent of his one from that night oh so long ago. "Lassiter can't…you shouldn't…" he sighed deeply, starting over, "This is too important, Shawn. And you know it."

"Yeah," the other man admitted, and really he did know that. He knew he wouldn't stop taking the pills. Not for a long while, if ever. It wasn't that he thought he'd fall right back into that scary depressed place if he stopped, it was just…he didn't like it being close to him; that scary depressed place.

Because he knew that if he got off the drugs he wouldn't sink as low as he had been at eighteen, but he also knew that he wouldn't be as happy as he was now. He wouldn't be able to deal with his father on even a semi-regular basis, he wouldn't be as good at solving crimes, he might not even be okay with what he and Lassiter have. Or had. He'd be angry again.

In short, he just wouldn't be himself.

"_There's nothing wrong with you," Gus had told him long ago, after he'd been taking the meds for a few months. "I mean, there is-"_

"_Gee, thanks, buddy." That hadn't been the comfort he'd been looking for. _

"_But," Gus went on sternly, "It's just like if you had a chronic illness or something that you needed medicine for. It's just physical. Something's physically wrong with your brain. It's not your fault."_

It's not your fault, Gus had told him, and Shawn had believed it, truly believed it, never doubted it. Until the day Lassiter found those pills and walked out of his bedroom without making eye contact.

"So…what happened after that?" Gus sounded resigned. The other shoe had dropped but there were still so many questions he had left to get answers for. "And for the love of God, where are you?"

"'Love of God'?" Shawn quoted back, "Aren't you an atheist?"

"Shut up and answer the damn question."

"My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, now didn't they?" Bickering with his bestest bud always made him perkier, no matter what the circumstance.

"_Someone _didn't wake up, Shawn." Gus fake-growled at him, "_Someone _sat though five hours of cat stories only to get back to their office and find out their best friend is missing."

"Dude, I'm not-"

"-then where the hell are you?" Gus interrupted loudly, "'Cause frankly, Shawn, it seems like a lot happened in the six and a half days I was gone and I'm now seriously considering implanting you with some kind of GPS locator chip so I never to worry about you up and vanishing on me again."

"I didn't vanish." Shawn spoke calmly, smiling a little. They tended to play off each other's emotions. When one was freaked the other was calm, and vice versa. Shawn had gone from reminiscent and almost sad to calm and hopeful as Gus had progressed from worried and protective to anxious and more anxious.

"Then _where, _the hell, _are you_?" Gus gritted out between clenched teeth.

Shawn rolled his eyes and sighed - playfully - but decided it was time to put his poor friend out of his misery. "Oh, fine." he humphed, "I was trying to lead up to a dramatic build, but if you really wanna ruin the surprise…"

"Ruin it, Shawn," Gus sounded half-relived, half-scared and half-annoyed - and no, numbers took on absolutely no meaning in the personal life of one Shawn Henry Spencer - "Please."

And without further ado, Shawn said simply, "Seattle."

There was a long, long pause that was really only a few moments but felt longer because Shawn had been expecting something along the lines of a quicker reaction. "Seattle?"

"Yup," Shawn admitted happily, almost forgetting for a moment about Lassiter and all that hadn't happened there. "You know, that big city where I sold hot dogs from a vendor for three months when I was eighteen."

"I know the city," Gus still seemed rather flabbergasted. "Tell me you didn't follow the robber guys there?"

"Huh," Shawn considered it, "Well, not really, I-"

"Wait a second," Gus intervened Shawn's explanation, "That was in one of Lassiter's messages. Damn, the last one on the machine. He said, 'I swear to God, Shawn if you followed that bastard I may have to kill you myself.'"

"Isn't he sweet?" Shawn cooed playfully, yet genuinely touched by the message, knowing it was Lassie's way of showing concern.

"_Shawn_…"

"Ah oh, warning tone,"

"Damn it, Shawn!"

"Dude, chill, take a breath," the calmer of the two insisted.

"Why should I?" The black man was mere moments away from a full on panicked-rant. "You're calling me from a damn hospital bed, aren't you?"

"Gus…" Shawn kept his voice level, "Seriously, time to breathe."

"And again I ask, why?" Gus snapped, "This is you we're talking about. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't think you're in a hospital or a jail cell or a crack house or a-"

"_Because,_" Shawn finally interrupted his best friend's spiel, "Because Fred and George aren't the only people I know in Seattle ."

"Shawn what are you-" But this time Gus cut himself off, going deadly silent for a few moments before realizing that this story just took a genuinely interesting and unexpected turn and, had he been less focused on Shawn and thinking more _like _Shawn, he might have figured it all out before just now.

Instead, the half of the inseparable duo that was currently back in Santa Barbara just exhaled slowly. "Oh."

"Yeah," Shawn chuckled, half-amused, half-almost regretful and half-sheepish. "'Oh' about sums it up."

o0oo0o

_**Five Days Ago…**_

"_You're sulking, Shawn."_

"_Am not."_

"_Are too."_

"_Nuh uh."_

"_Then why haven't you gotten out of bed all damn day?"_

"_I'm tired."_

"_Are you dying?"_

"_Last I checked, no."_

"_Then you're not tired, it's not in your nature."_

"_Nature? Dude, am I like a wild animal now?"_

"_Yeah, a wild animal that only needs four hours of sleep every night."_

"_I blame it all on that year I worked the overnight shift."_

"_Didn't you love that?"_

"_Not the point."_

"_No, the point is, you're sulking because Lassiter left and you're too chicken to go see him."_

"_He's working a case."_

"_A case you could, and probably should, be involved in."_

"_You're encouraging this?"  
_

"_You're bored. And chicken."_

"_I'm not chicken."_

"_Then how come you didn't pick up the phone when Juliet called. Three times."_

"_How do you know she called?"_

"_Because-_

"Because I'm having a conversation with Gus in my head! Ah!" Shawn growled to himself, pulling a pillow over his head like a melodramatic sixteen-year-old. "This is so stupid, I should just go to the station."

"_Damn right you should."_

"Shut up, you're the one who told me not to take any cases," Shawn grumbled, pulling the pillow off his face before he suffocated. "Besides, I'm all bruised and have a split lip from last night."

"_You look like you were in a bar fight. Oh, wait…"_

o0oo0o

_**Ping-Pong Time Sequence…**_

"You have conversations with me in your mind when you're alone?" Gus asked skeptically one eyebrow going up - Shawn was sure.

"Yeah, well," He shrugged, "Don't you…ya know, with me? Not yourself."

"No, Shawn," Gus snapped firmly, "In fact, I go to great lengths to keep you out of my mind."

"Come on, dude," the friend with the surfer-boy hair all but whined, "You've never been like…on a date or something, and she's sitting there, staring at you, the sun's setting over the beach in the background and you really, really wanna go in for the kiss, but you're just a little too chicken, or you think your breath smells or you're not sure if you remembered to brush your teeth this morning-"

"Shawn."

"But then you think, 'W.W.S.D.?' and you just go for it?" He ended his spiel hopeful and excited, smiling brightly.

"What would Shawn do?" The other man repeated. "Nice. Isn't it supposed to be 'What would Jesus do?'"

"I've heard it both ways." Shawn gave. "I've also heard 'W.W.T.B.F.C.D?'"

"The hell?"

"What would the Barefoot Contessa do." Shawn explained, grinning.

"That's stupid." Gus informed him dryly.

"Fine," Shawn huffed, "Ruin all my hopes and dreams."

"You can't even cook."

"Can too." Shawn exclaimed, insulted. "I make a mean pineapple upside down cake."

"Anything that comes out of an Easy-Bake Oven doesn't count."

"That's fair." Shawn decided, before pausing for a moment and realizing, "Dude, you totally made me forget where I was with the story."

"You were being a chicken about going to the station." Gus reminded him, Shawn went to great lengths in his own mind to not retort, remembering that this was indeed only the _first _time Gus had called him a chicken.

"Right, well, eventually I did go. Later that night. Much later." Shawn tried to make it sound casual.

"Like right before the Chief went home and everyone else was already gone so you wouldn't run into Lassiter, any of the rookies that heard your fight with your dad or even Juliet because she's a woman so gossiping comes natural to her and God only knows what she heard ?"

_Damn. _

"I took a really long shower."

Gus rolled his eyes, Shawn could sense it again. "Go on."

o0oo0o

When he got to the station, it wasn't the quiet, docile, end-of-the-day, casual hub-ub he'd been expecting.

Officers were running around in a flurry, papers were being passed back and forth, coffee was spilt all over the counter - and no one was yelling about it - phones were ringing, and Chief Vick was looking undeniably grim.

"What's going on here?" The fake-psychic approached his boss…type lady casually, clearly identifying himself as not adding to the stress of whatever was already going on.

"Mr. Spencer, I'm glad you're here."

"The spirits told me you might be needing some assistance." He shrugged casually, "What up?"

Vick just shook her head, looking half-disappointed and mostly angry. "Rodney Crandall escaped police custody approximately two hours ago."

End Chapter.


	11. A Moment of Side Notes

_A/N: Minor Spoilers for 'There's something about Mira' _

Chapter Eleven: A Moment of Side Notes

_**Four, Three, Two and Just Over One Month Ago. For Those Following Along At Home, Please Keep Your Arms and Legs Inside the Time Sequence At All Times. No Reading Ahead. No Giving Into Confusion. Failure To Comply With These Guidelines Will End In Severe…Badness. Like Hating Pineapple, Bad. Enjoy!… **_

"We had sex." Lassiter stated bluntly, standing in Shawn's doorway like he was afraid that crossing over the threshold would bring about a massive doom of some kind.

"Yeah," Shawn shrugged, not for the first time in his life he was unsure about how to approach a situation with a potential love interest. Or something. "We did."

"Did you…" Lassiter looked so unsure, so unguarded. Shawn decided in that moment that there was more to Carlton Lassiter than he'd ever believed he'd be able to see. And for the first time, he wanted to see it. "I mean, what…"

Shawn smiled. "It wasn't your first time with a guy." It wasn't a question.

Carlton shook his head, agreeing with Shawn's assessment. "I can't be gay."

"Huh," Shawn wasn't offended so much as amused. "Then I guess the butt-sex was a mistake."

"Spencer." Lassiter growled warningly before looking around suddenly, seemingly afraid that someone else might hear their words. He stepped into Shawn's apartment, but didn't moved away from the now closed front door.

Shawn wasn't complaining. He didn't really like people in his personal space until he'd had time to prepare. And Lassiter coming over that morning defiantly hadn't been expected.

"I'm serious." Lassiter didn't sound serious, though. He sounded scared.

"I know," Shawn said anyway, playing along. Because that felt right at the moment. And Shawn tried to base all his decisions on what felt right. Logic never lead anywhere good on the emotional side of life.

"So…" Lassiter didn't make eye-contact when he was nervous. He shifted from one foot to the other and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Shawn was reminded of an elementary school boy with his first crush, standing on the playground, empty swings in the background, swaying in the breeze at dusk; long, poetic shadows cast off from those swings and the slide and the monkey bars, all leading up to this one person. This one man, boy, child; who was laying his heart on the line because he just didn't know what to do with it anymore.

Shawn shook his head, clearing it of that distinct image. Lassiter wasn't weak and unsure. He was strong, he knew who he was and what he was doing.

Or maybe not. Still, it wasn't up to Shawn to decide.

"So, what?" He asked, not angrily, but with no real defining emotion. "It happened. It doesn't have to mean anything."

Lassiter looked up, "It doesn't?" His face was a myriad of expressions. He'd left his poker face at home that day. Hope mixed with disappointment tinged with relief and…something else Shawn was too distracted to pick out.

"It can." He found himself saying. "It doesn't have to, but it can."

"Do you…want it to?" He was still rocking on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into his khaki pants. He still wasn't making eye contact.

Shawn wanted so badly to answer, to make things easier for himself and for Lassiter. But he knew he couldn't. Hard as it might be for him, the natural leader, he knew he couldn't take the reigns and steer right now.

So he just shrugged. "It's up to you, Lassie."

"Why?" Innocence and a pure desire to be lead shone through in that simple word and Shawn felt suddenly like he was that little boy on the playground, and he didn't like the emotions that crept up on him in that moment.

So he just shrugged again, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'll be around when you make up your mind."

o0oo0o

Lassiter had called.

"Spencer, it's me. I wanna talk to you about the Henning case. Follow up questions for court" - a long pause and suddenly it was less official and more nervous - "Meet me at my place tonight. I'll order pizza. Oh, and, Shawn…" - another long pause, some shuffling on the other end of the line- "Um…bring beer."

Then a click as his machine played the next message. But Shawn couldn't hear it. He was smiling and he couldn't deny how damn happy he was right at that moment.

o0oo0o

"Have you…ever…been with a guy before?" Shawn grinned. They were three and a half beers into the night and all of the Henning case stuff had been completed hours ago. Turns out 'follow up questions for court' was really just a couple signatures on some pieces of paper and an agreement that if he did - on some off chance - get called to court, it would be to testify as a _witness. _Nothing more.

He'd agreed easily and they'd been talking casually, civilly, ever since.

Lassiter, apparently, had a tendency to drop big questions out into random conversation. Shawn didn't know if this was because they'd circle around his mind and he'd spit them out the second he got the balls to, if they were just random thoughts, or if it was a method of trying to throw him off, get honest answers.

Maybe a mix of all three.

Shawn shrugged, which he seemed to do with Lassiter a lot. "Have you?"

"You already know I have." He pointed out.

Shawn bit his lip for a moment. "Three guys, five times." He paused. "Unless threesomes count."

Lassiter grinned so Shawn did, too. He liked seeing that grin.

"And out of those, how many times did you…" he stopped and blushed. Carlton Lassiter actually blushed.

Shawn thought it was adorable, and he got stuck on that for a moment before realizing what it was exactly his…friend, he guessed, was asking.

He thought about their night together several days before. He'd been on top. He was always on top. "I've never been the bottom." He half-smiled.

Lassiter surprised him by admitting, "I hadn't either. Until you."

Shawn wasn't sure what that meant. "We _were _drunk."

They were kind of drunk now, actually. The fake-psychic couldn't think of a situation where they would be having this conversation and _not _be drunk.

"That," Lassiter chuckled, "And…I trust you."

Shawn might have fallen in love right then.

o0oo0o

"An interpretive dance group in Buffalo?" Carlton laughed outright at that. "And was that before or after the candy emporium in Texas?"

"Dude…" Shawn dragged out. "After, but if you ever really wanna know what eternal torment is, try cleaning up an entire store of melted candy for eight hours after the air conditioning breaks."

The older man barked a laugh and Shawn couldn't hold back, "I'm talking chocolate, skittles, suckers, marshmallows, sour belts, gummy bears, gummy snakes, gummy sharks, gummy army guys - we basically could have made a little world out of all the gummy stuff we had. It was right before Easter, too so we had about eight pounds of Peeps. Ten thousand different colors. And flavors. Did you know Peeps could come in different flavors? And, God, the Heresy Kisses. Carmel - which is good - but then there's coconut, strawberry, vanilla. Raspberry Three Musketeers. It's wrong and disturbing, how they violate the integrity of candy sometimes. " He was in full on rant mode now. "Because, seriously? Coconut Marshmallows? I mean, I can get on board with the chocolate ones, even the strawberry ones weren't that bad, but coconut? And mint chocolate? How wrong is that?"

Lassiter crinkled his nose in disgust, "I'm with you there."

"Marshmallow, candy coated, Hello Kitty suckers," Shawn went on, "Chocolate covered Peeps. I mean, we had chocolate I couldn't even pronounce in flavors like 'Up town, raspberry mint, dark chocolate truffle' Whatever happened to plain chocolate candy bars that cost a dollar at the grocery store? Oh, _and_, out of all our nasty flavors, no one, not even once, thought to make anything remotely Pineapple flavored."

"Did you write an angry letter?" Lassiter was only semi-mocking him. Mostly, he was enjoying seeing Shawn in his element.

"Nah," The younger man laughed some more, "But I did get _so _fired after that."

"Why? Wasn't your fault the air conditioning broke."

"No, but I did kinda decide after a few hours of cleaning that all thatcandy - clearly several experiments at the candy factory gone wrong - wasn't really worth saving, so I gathered together all the melted crap and made a oversized statute of penis on the middle of the counter." They were laughing so hard now their faces were bright red.

"And I haven't even told you the stories from the pet store, the snowboarding place, the Hallmark, the tour guiding, used car salesman, fortune cookie fortune writer, assistant to the assistant of the assistant at that record label, the Weiner mobile, the acne puncture..ist, the birthing coach, hot air balloon inspector…"

"You're making this up," Carlton accused, laughing all the while.

"I'm really not," Shawn insisted, before going into the detailed stories of _how _exactly he found out that experience - which he didn't have -was indeed necessary for so many of those jobs.

They laughed until the sun came up.

o0oo0o

Lassiter had never seen him truly worried before. Nor angry. But that night on their way to Mira's parents winery changed a lot of things for Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. Until that night, it'd been easy for him to forget that they were both human beings, both caring and feeling and wanting.

Especially Shawn, who put up a false front even when he was trying not to put up a false front. And it wasn't like Lassiter had been completely innocent of that crime himself.

But that day, that long, long day had changed everything.

O'Hara had scored better than him on his detective's exam. And Shawn had aced the damn thing at age _fifteen -_ which really didn't surprise him at that point, but _come on. _

He'd gotten totally carried away with a suspect, mocked Shawn's 'Jan doesn't exist theory' which was fun. (He got to clasp him on the shoulder without raising suspicions)

But then everything changed. Shawn had changed. In the split second that it took him to realize that his best friend was in danger, he'd gone from willy-nilly psychic wonder boy, to…

Just a really worried Shawn Spencer.

And Lassiter had seen him in a different light.

Of course he still had to be right about everything. _"Remember when I said Jan didn't exist? Well, technically, I was right. Ya know what? Forget that, I was totally right." _

But the way he was speaking…he repeated words, he wasn't having a 'vision'…he just…

"_Somebody give me a gun!"_

Even a cop who was that distraught or that personally involved in a case wouldn't have been carrying a weapon, if they'd been at the scene at all. But Shawn didn't follow protocol or procedure. He was Shawn.

And as he explained the what's and how's of the case, he'd calmed down a bit, which in turn calmed Lassiter down, but the second the story was out…

"_But why's Guster in trouble?" _He couldn't help but inquire.

And when Shawn said impatiently, _"Because it's Thursday night, Lassie." _He'd felt like a bonehead for not figuring it out sooner. Because as soon as Shawn said it, it seemed so obvious.

"_Somebody give me a gun!"_

Two chorused _no's_.

"_Then drive faster, that's my best friend in there!"_

And that changed everything.

Shawn wasn't jus worried or angry.

He was frantic. And pissed.

He was so protective of his best friend, so willing to run right into danger to get the other man out safe. Lassiter had had to pull him back, physically pull him away so he wouldn't bust down the door himself.

"_We've got guns." _He heard O'Hara mumble to him, and he'd lagged back.

A minute later and it was as if none of it had ever happened. Shawn and Guster were reunited, Shawn told some impressive cover story to hide whatever had actually happened in that wine cellar, placing Gus in a more impressive light.

Then they'd left, gone about their routine as normal, and it was as if nothing had changed.

Only everything had.

Nothing would ever be the same. Because for a fleeting moment when Shawn had been frantic and pissed - under his worry and professionalism, Carlton Lassiter had been jealous.

It'd only been for a fraction of a second, but it'd been enough. He'd wanted to be the one to provoke that kind of reaction out of Shawn. He'd wanted to be that important. He wanted to be the one with whom Shawn reenacted the 'fight.' He wanted Shawn to fall into his arms just so the younger man would be able to know, to feel, for sure that he was alive and well.

He'd wanted to be that important…to Shawn.

And in that moment, he knew without doubt that he was in over his head.

o0oo0o

"I just don't get the point of online dating," Shawn stressed his point, scratching the back of his head in that way he had that meant he wasn't saying something that he wanted to say.

Lassiter just shrugged. "It's easier sometimes." He studied the younger man. "Why? Are you jealous?"

Shawn snorted, "No."

"Then why won't you look me in the eye?"

Shawn didn't look up, but was silent for several long moments before, "Fine! Ya know what? Go head, go online and find your desperate over-the-hill bimbos and let me know how that works out for you!"

He got up from the kitchen table, storming out of Lassiter's apartment angrily. The Head Detective himself just leaned back and raised a single eyebrow.

"And another thing," Shawn swung back around suddenly and pointed a finger at his lover, "There are crazy, crazy people on the internet! It's like…a homing beacon for every two-bit wanna be psycho stalker slash rapist slash killer slash…porn freak, midget fetish… person ever! And if you wanna lower yourself to those standards, then fine! Go head! I won't stop you."

"So…" Lassiter bit back a smile as the younger man caught his breath, "You're jealous, huh?"

o0oo0o

Lassiter looked up from the book he was reading, spread out comfortably on his couch, he'd been taking a rare early evening at home to relax; until a tentive knock sounded on his front door. Shortly followed by a head of dirty blonde hair poking its way through his threshold.

He didn't even chastise himself for leaving the door unlocked until much, much later. Because he'd recognized the knock and he'd known right away who was at the door.

"Shawn?" Soon the younger man was fully visible and closing the door behind himself. "What are you doing here?"

The fake psychic shrugged. It was odd how quiet he was being. Very odd.

"Is everything okay?" Lassiter prayed that it was because he wasn't that good at anything emotionally complicated.

Shawn shrugged again, bit his lip and eventually asked, "Can I spend the night here?"

Lassiter thought that it was a supremely unusual request, delivered in a undeniably uncharacteristic way, but it was either question it and risk Shawn scampering off, or just do what he did; nod.

"Sure, of course." Because it wasn't like he didn't want the younger man in his bed. They hadn't even come close to defining their relationship. At this point, it was just a series of one-night stands strung together, if that.

But yet here Shawn was, kicking off his shoes and lying down next to Carlton on the couch.

"Um, we could go to the bedroom," the detective offered.

He felt Shawn shake his head against his chest as one of his arms wrapped around his torso. Shawn was so small that there was still plenty of leftover room on the luscious couch.

"Keep reading," his lover insisted, "I just wanna sleep for a little while."

And that was the position they stayed in for the better part of that evening; Shawn asleep on his stomach, Carlton alternating between reading the words of his book and dragging his hand lovingly through Shawn's hair.

Carlton never did ask his lover why he'd come over that night, but he would never forget it.

That night was another one of those moments that changed everything.

o0oo0o

_**Four And a Half Days Ago…**_

Shawn took a deep breath, "The end?"

"More like the beginning," the woman in front of him was older, with flowing, dirty blonde hair - the same color as Shawn's - petite, thin and dressed casually in a white T-shirt and jeans. She was barefoot, as she'd been lounging around her house comfortably before Shawn had knocked on the door.

"That, too." The fake psychic chuckled. "Oh, and there's this whole thing with a gang and this guy I used to know and he was framed, but nobody will believe me until I can prove it. Oh, and this other convicted criminal might be trying to kill me." Shawn shrugged again. "Got any coffee?"

"I always have coffee." The older woman took all this information in stride and simply opened her door wider, and Shawn stepped across the threshold gratefully.

"Thanks, Aunt Jamie."

End Chapter.

_A/N: I know, I didn't answer any questions about the crime part of the plot and I didn't include Gus - which was hard for me, by the way - but this is the most Shassie packed chapter thus far and I'd Loooooove to know what you thought? _

_Oh, and that candy rant? I work at a big store that stocks a lot of the Easter inspired stuff AND I used to work at a really small candy store. So I'm very well versed in candy. There really were that many different kind of Gummy things and all those flavors? They really do exist. Go check out the 'Seasonal' section of a Rite Aid, Target, Walgreen's or something sometime. It's Friggin' crazy. And gross._


	12. Hold the Crunch, Please

_**A/N: **__Yeah, I know it's been a really, really long time and I probably should have put this story on hiatus, but, that's all behind us now. I hope. I'm going to try and try and try to crank this puppy out and your reviews – thoughts, comments, concerns – would be greatly appreciated. _

_PS - I quite obviously started this story WAY before the season three premiere (which I loved, btw: ) and thus, in this world, we still know zip about Shawn's mom. _

_Anyway, enjoy!! _

Chapter Twelve: Hold the Crunch, Please

_**Four Days Ago…**_

Shawn, if asked, could very easily define _crunch time _as those precious hours right before he solved a case when he didn't sleep – or if he did, fell asleep against his will in odd places – didn't stop thinking about the crime or crimes committed and often went to his father for inspiration. Because for Shawn, irritation was an excellent motivator. As was the need to prove his father wrong. And maybe – just maybe, mind you – something deep, heartfelt and still five-years-old inside of him longed for his father's pride. Most of the time he doubted that.

Crunch time could always be easily spotted. Shawn would be hyper, perplexed, sarcastic, annoyed, thoughtful and then – bam – case solved. Maybe not always exactly in that order, but damn close. Gus, on the other hand, never worked well during crunch time. His best friend preferred sleep in generous amounts, coffee, a light breakfast and to be freshly showered.

Still, they always managed to play off each other nicely and crunch time always, _always _ensured a closed case and pride all around.

This was not crunch time.

"I left a message on your machine." Mitch Bowers was a well-built, tall, mostly bald guy approximately five years older than Shawn. He stood broad shouldered and intimidating in the center of the Psych office, the cigarette dangling from his left hand proof positive of what caused his deep, scratchy voice and yellowing teeth.

"I haven't been here since last night." Shawn told the man honestly. It was nearing five-thirty in the morning and the fake-psychic had spent the entire night at the police station trying to solve the disappearing gunman crime. Well, he'd actually been sleeping in the police provided cots for the majority of that time but, eh, who needed to know that?

"Figured," Mitch grunted, dropping his smoking cigarette butt on the carpet and stepping on it. Shawn cringed, that would defiantly leave a burn. "I need your help."

"I'm a little busy right now," Shawn pointed out.

"With Rodney Crandall." Mitch spoke like he knew for sure and the younger man couldn't hide his surprise.

"The chief said it wouldn't be in the news until later today." Shawn informed, oddly calm after his night of near run-ins with Lassie and his talk with Juliet and Vick.

"Someone must have leaked it." Mitch pulled a section of the morning paper out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it over to the ruffled detective; quickly scanning the headline and accompanying article, Shawn, once again, couldn't hide his shock.

"Even lists the kind of gun he had on him." Shawn mumbled. "That's weird."

"Did he have the gun when he got away from the guards at the hospital?" Mitch inquired lightly, helping himself to another smoke and sitting casually on Shawn's desk while Shawn himself went to the lockers they kept to the side of the room and dug out a clean shirt.

"We don't know," Shawn shrugged, "The gun hasn't been recovered but none of the guards were shot." Looking up suddenly, Shawn was freshly taken aback. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

_**Present**_**…**

"Better question, Shawn," Gus snapped between the other man's pause for breath, "Who the hell is Mitch Bowman?"

"Bowers." Shawn corrected automatically, "And I thought we agreed that you were gonna let me tell the story from now on."

"Shawn," Gus began exasperatedly and the other man could tell just by that voice that he had an earful coming. "You skipped over an entire night at the police station and jumped right into some random guy showing up at our office and making it smell like a damn ashtray. I've had the windows open since I got back and it still reeks."

"Sorry?" Shawn tried, knowing that wasn't what his friend was looking for at all.

"Just tell me what happened at the police station." Gus demanded. "You can nutshell if you want."

Shawn appreciated that and held off on the forthcoming sigh accordingly. "Okay, fine," he began. "Rodney Crandall was the guy who dragged me out of the bar and Lassiter shot. They had to take him to the hospital to fix his shoulder but he escaped,"

"Yeah, I got all that." Gus interrupted impatiently, "What about the other guy at the bar?"

"George?"

"Sure."

"Still in custody, getting extradited back to Washington as we speak, probably." He shared absently, having almost completely forgotten about that guy. "I went back to the police station that night and Vick told me Fred was loose and they were doing everything they could. Ya know, searching, seizing, interrogating, staking, stewing, collaborating, calling, pacing, growling, shouting, I think one guy burst into song after-"

"Shawn," Gus interrupted firmly.

The pineapple loving man with a tendency towards tangents stopped and shook his head, having lost himself for a moment. "Anyway," he went on, "There was nothing I could do, officially, and Vick told me to go home until the next day, which was technically four days ago, incase you needed a timeline update-"

"Really didn't."

"-so I took her advice and stayed at the station and did some things unofficially."

"I'm sure that's what she meant," Oh, and there was that sarcasm again. Shawn had missed that sarcasm.

"Went over Fred's criminal record, list of family and friends in the area-"

"Anything useful?"

"Nada," Shawn spoke and for a moment it was just like they were discussing a regular case in the Psych office together. "It's like the dude just woke up in Seattle, thought, hey, Santa Barbara sounds like a nice city, let's go commit a crime there."

"There had to have been more to it then that," the black man pointed out logically.

"Of course there was, Gus," Shawn exclaimed, "I just didn't figure any of it out that night. Ergo, not so important on our timeline."

"And you didn't talk to Lassiter at all, all night?" Gus pressed.

"Nope."

"Did you try to?"

"Nope."

"Did he try to?"

"I plead the fifth." Shawn said dramatically, "I'd like a lawyer and a copy of my Miranda rights."

"Shawn…" Gus started but didn't seem to know how to finish.

"Juliet said she'd always known and that's why she would never go out with me and she's surprised it didn't take me even longer to figure out." Shawn went on, using his friend's lack of words to his advantage, avoiding the Lassie subject all together. "The chief laid down some ground rules and advised that I talk to my dad once this case was all closed because I might be surprised."

"That's it?" Gus sounded rather disappointed. In truth, Shawn had been too at the time.

"Pretty much." Shawn shrugged. "Buzz, actually, stopped the me and Lassie thing from becoming even more of a rumor. Don't ask me how."

"So, basically," Gus took a deep breath, "You avoided everything?"

"Hey, now, I was trying to catch the bad guy." Shawn protested.

"Fine," And again, the out-of-state man could _hear _his best friend's eyes rolling. "You fell asleep, woke up, the chief ordered you to go home to shower and change-"

"How do you know-"

"Because I know what you look like when you wake up." Gus predicted the question, tapping into his own fake-psychic abilities.

"An excellent point." Shawn allowed.

"You went back to the office and some guy named Mitch Bowie-"

"Bowers."

"-was waiting for you to discuss, for some reason, this ongoing case?"

Shawn nodded to himself, "Yup, yeah, that's right on the money, Gus. Glad to see you're keeping up. Can I get back to telling my story now?"

"I have just one question first," Gus didn't give him a chance to agree or disagree. "Who is this guy? Why did you just start talking to him about the case? Why were you not surprised at all to see him and why, the hell, Shawn, did you let him put out cigarettes all over our brand new carpet that cost half of our last paycheck?"

"Way more than one question, dude." Shawn pointed out dryly and could picture in his mind Gus's pointed glare. "Fine," he faked more annoyance than he really felt, "I was a little flabbergasted, okay? I forgot about the new carpet and I promise I'll pay to have it replaced or cleaned or something. Happy?"

"No."

"Then go get laid." He suggested brightly. "Or, ya know - let me finish my story!" He shouted the last bit, not really aggravated at all, but knowing that he would indeed have to pay for this phone call eventually and he was starting to doubt the money that he had in his savings account would cover it. Not at the rate they were going.

"Just one question, Shawn," Gus said evenly, not letting his friend's tone affect him at all; then, it never, ever did.

"Fine," Shawn sighed one of those mocking sighs that didn't count. "_One _question."

"Who is this Mitch guy? Really?"

"Really?" Shawn parroted, sounding almost serious.

"Really." Gus insisted and they both knew he wouldn't be lying or joking for at least the next two or three seconds.

Shawn licked his lips and cringed in anticipation. "A career criminal."

Gus was silent.

"A career criminal with such an impressive rap sheet that if the police ever caught on to him they'd most likely skip right over that whole death row thing and just throw him off a cliff with an anvil anchored to his foot, actually." Shawn continued in his upbeat manner, not really accepting Gus' shock.

"And this guy is a…friend of yours?"

"Actually," Shawn had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling, because _damn _if this didn't just take the pineapple upside down cake. "He used to be my roommate."

The fake-psychic wasn't positive, but he was fairly certain, that the _clunk _that he heard a few microseconds following his confession was Gus's jaw hitting the floor.

"Just wait," Shawn was grinning and he knew Gus could tell, "It gets even better."

_**TBC… **_


	13. It’s Not Like That, It’s Just Not

Chapter Thirteen: It's Not Like That, It's Just Not

_**Four Days Ago…**_

"Should I answer that?" Mitch Bowman called through Shawn's relatively small apartment as the knocking at his front door persisted way past the point of annoyance.

Shawn, who was currently _not _hiding in his bathroom, had a pretty good idea who it was that was pounding mercilessly at his front door and no, he didn't want that particular hunch proven correct.

Life, however, never did tend to stand still for him. Well, not unless Shawn made an active attempt to _make _life stand still; which he could do just fine when he set his mind to it. _Not _hiding in the bathroom, as it turns out, was not a good venue for controlling the world.

"Who the hell are you?" Lassie's voice was loud and laced with suspicion. Shawn groaned. Mitch was a good guy. Really. At least, after you got to know him a little. Maybe, if you looked past that whole career criminal thing or you didn't mind fleeing the country at a moments notice. Which Shawn really never had.

His friend, for all his, well…maybe not _good _qualities; but for all his understandable – once you _really _got to know him – qualities, had this teeny little tendency to be a tad impatient.

"Shawn!" Lassie was yelling now, "_Shawn_!" And perhaps it was the utter fear in his voice that brought the youngest Spencer out of his _not hiding _place in the bathroom.

"Hey, Lassiter," In the two hours since Mitch had showed up at the Psych office, Shawn had managed successfully to shower and put on fresh clothes. Frankly, he was rather impressed with himself.

Lassie, on the other hand, seemed to have other things on his mind. Stopped dead in the center of his living room with Mitch closer to the front door and Shawn several feet away, his hand was on his gun - and if there was one thing neither man needed right now, it was Lassiter shooting someone else this week.

"Are you okay?" Shawn was reasonably convinced that the fear and concern in his _not _boyfriend's voice was purely professional. Good cop looking out for innocent bystander who tended to get into sticky situations of the gun drawing variety concern.

Of course, Shawn had also been reasonably convinced that Tom Hanks and Wilson the not-so-real volleyball would find each other again by the end of _Cast Away_ and live happily ever after. Needless to say, Shawn's _reasonably convinced _thought process needed a tweak or two.

_**Presently…**_

"Are you finally admitting that you in no way believe there's gonna be a _Cast Away Two _in which Tom Hanks, and his volleyball, spawn a mutant race of volleyball-hybrid actors who take over the world with police dogs, airplane terminals, internet dating, death row and Leonardo DiCaprio?" Gus interrupted hopefully. "And the fact that you're in Seattle is suddenly ironic."

"I'm not admitting anything, Gus," Shawn laughed, "Now, as I was saying…"

_**Back To That Again…**_

"Are you a cop?" Mitch eyed Lassiter more than a little wearily.

"Are you a criminal?" Lassie countered, and Shawn would have laughed if things weren't going so horribly, terribly wrong right now. "Shawn?" the head detective turned to face him before Mitch could respond, preventing what could have easily been a not so pleasant encounter. "Are you okay?" He asked again.

"Fine," Shawn nodded shortly and, in hopes of getting his…not…his would be…his almost… _fuck. _Of getting Lassiter out of his apartment as fast as possible, he expanded. "Mitch here is an old friend of mine. He's just visiting."

The Irishman turned to Mitch, "Oh yeah, where from?"

"Nashville." Mitch pulled that out of his ass and it took Shawn a lot of effort to not snort out loud. Picturing Mitch in Tennessee was kind of like picturing SpongeBob and Patrick on _Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? _Amusing as hell, but so obviously never going to happen and never could have happened. Cartoons and real-people game shows just didn't work together.

_**1-800-Dial-A-Story**_

"I like that metaphor."

"Our life is just a string of metaphors." Shawn informed his best friend, trying hard to sound philosophical.

"Then, metaphorically, how are Tom Hanks and a volleyball going to produce offspring?"

"…"

"Shawn?" Gus laughed, "Shawn…" he all but sang his friend's name, "C'mon, Shawn, ya gotta have some idea."

"Bite me."

"Bite Lassiter."

"Zing, swish and score! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I do believe that was our little Gus's first ever homosexual joke. Can we give it up please, for the man behind all those pharmaceutical sales…he has sales reptitude and a killer _Bugs Bunny_ impression… Burton Guster!" Shawn made cheering noises into the phone and Gus rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, Shawn, you were saying…"

_**Yeah, Them Again…**_

"That's funny," Lassiter chuckled at Mitch's bold face lie, "Shawn, I don't remember you ever saying anything about having lived in Nashville."

"It was a long time ago." He answered easily. He actually had been to Nashville. Once. During a flight layover. At night. And, yeah, it'd only been an hour and a half – forty five minutes of which he'd spent flirting with the barista at the Airport's one and only Starbucks – and no, he hadn't actually left said airport at all expect once for five minutes to grab a smoke outside and even that he'd regretted because he'd had to go through security again. But hey, he _had_ been there.

"And he's just…passing through, huh?" Lassiter's eyes were narrowed and darting between Shawn and Mitch suspiciously and all at once the fake psychic saw Lassie's suspicion for what it really was.

The older man didn't think – or rather, suspect – that Mitch was a hardened criminal, that he'd tried and almost succeeded in pulling Shawn into his rather nomadic lifestyle of crime, research, cheap motels, false leads and vengeance. No, none of that had occurred to the head detective at all. Lassiter was plain and simple, no strings attached, without a doubt –

_**The Phone Talking…**_

"-Jealous. He was jealous." Gus snapped. "I get it. Really, I do. What I don't get is why you're dragging this out."

"Plot thickening."

"And what do you mean by research, false leads and vengeance?" Gus went on, not caring about Shawn's reasoning one bit. "Is this guy some kind of vigilante?"

"_Damn_ it, Gus!" Shawn whine-shouted wholeheartedly, "Why…wha…can't you just _not_…"

"Whoa, wait," Gus was shaking his head, Shawn was sure, maybe even holding up one hand for dramatic – and useless as he wasn't there to see it – affect. "I'm right, right? You lived with a vigilante? What, Bounty Hunters weren't enough? You had to think of another way to try to get yourself killed?"

"I never went with him, Gus," Shawn protested, the fight at having his best climatic moment taken from him slowly deflating. "And screw you, dude. I was totally gonna make that a cliffhanger."

Gus snorted.

"Nah, man," Shawn went on. "I was gonna be all like, 'Oh, and Mitch spends his free times taking long walks across the beach, playing street rugby and searching for the members of the gang that killed his father before his eyes when he was eight. Oh, whoops, gotta put you on hold for a second, a commercial for the new episode of _America's Next Top Model _is playing.' And you ruined it."

"Thank God for small favors." Gus paused, having just registered Shawn's words in that delayed way he sometimes had. "Wait, gang?"

"Mitch's dad joined, wanted out after he got married and Mitch was born, and that always goes so well." Shawn did _not _sigh. "They killed him. They made him and his mom watch. His mom never talked about it, I guess. Pretended it didn't happen."

"That sucks." Which summed it up nicely, Shawn thought.

"I met him in Seattle when I was eighteen. It wasn't hard to figure out what his deal was."

"Not for you," Gus scoffed. "Shawn, I get that you can make friends with anybody, but really…a killer?"

"He's not a killer." Shawn defended at once.

Gus raised a single eyebrow. No words were necessary and Shawn did not have to see his friend to know what face he was getting.

"He's not. He's never been able to find any of those gang members, never been able to find the man who killed his father," Shawn exhaled, "The guy lies, cheats, steals and is pretty good with the fraud – but he won't be a killer until he finds his father's murderer."

"Still doesn't really explain why he came here." Gus pointed out. "Unless Rodney Crandall was related to that gang."

"Gus," Shawn whined again, "This is so _not _going the way I wanted it to."

"Score two for the reptitude," Gus chanted, "I told you, foreshadowing and logical deduction-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Shawn interrupted, in a hurry to get back to his story; even if he had only the personal bits and pieces to add to it now. Of course he'd realized that that was why he'd been stalling in the first place and of course Gus realized that, too. Gus was insightful when it came to Shawn and Shawn was predictable when it came to Gus. "Where were we?"

"Lassiter was jealous." Gus reminded and Shawn knew there'd be no getting out of this now.

"Right. Lassiter was jealous."

_**C'mon Everybody, One Last Time…**_

"Yes, he's just passing through," Shawn confirmed, knowing that his not…whatever the hell Lassiter was to him at the moment - was jealous, didn't stop Mitch from being in his living room and having claimed not half an hour ago that he could help Shawn find the guy who'd escaped from police custody.

"Right," Mitch chimed in, "Just passing through."

"Well…" Lassiter licked his lips in his trying-so-hard-to-be-patient-and-failing way, "Now that that's been established…Shawn, can I talk to you for a minute?" He paused and glanced at Mitch. "Alone?"

Shawn was torn and feeling uncomfortably grown up, "Um…"

"Shawn," Mitch started, "That thing that we were gonna do?" the younger man nodded his understanding of the 'code', "We've got about an hour before we have to, ya know, go do it."

Shawn nodded again but then looked at Lassiter.

Yes, he was being stupid in making the decision he was about to make and yes, he realized he was being stupid and, had the last three days not played out the way they had – if Gus was there to tell him, out loud, exactly how stupid he was being, if his father hadn't brought old, new, borrowed and blue issues out to play kick-the-Shawn with and if Lassiter hadn't freaked out about something that Shawn had been trying for years to convince himself didn't mean anything at all – then maybe, _maybe_ he wouldn't be getting on a plane to Seattle with Mitch in an hour.

But being stupid, making stupid, potentially dangerous, decisions made him feel almost safe. Because all that other crap just made him feel grown up and that was bungee-jumping-without-the-bungee scary and Shawn was painfully fed up with that feeling at the moment.

Still, after the three days he'd had thus far, he didn't know what was up, what was down and what was flying sideways as the engine died anymore.

So he sighed one of those sighs he loathed and said, "Mitch, your rental's still parked at the Psych office. Go get it and pick me up in half an hour."

"You're cutting it close." Mitch warned, but Shawn wasn't looking at him anymore.

"I know. But me and Lassiter have to talk."

_**TBC…**_

A/N: And there will be Shassie goodness to come. Cross my heart and hope to never watch Psych again, poke a sleeping bear with a stick, willingly play with numbers…you know, all that stuff. Anyway, the more you review, the more motivated I am to write, so keep 'em comin'


	14. See Ya Later

Chapter Fourteen: See Ya Later 

_**Four Days Ago…**_

The moment after Mitch walked out the front door Shawn had a sudden and very childish urge to follow after him. Mitch Bowman may have been a criminal, an ass, a vengeance seeking con artist with a one track mind and a whole helping of bitter angry sarcasm, but he and Shawn had always gotten along fairly well. And, his biggest plus in the fake-psychic's opinion right now, he wasn't Lassiter.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Lassiter turned to him with his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was accusing and Shawn felt guilty for a moment – before realizing that he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty for. He wasn't a kid anymore – hadn't been for a long, long time, in fact – and he could do whatever the hell he wanted to do.

So in a flash, guilt was replaced by anger, which came out in sarcasm because that's how it'd been his whole life and screw him if he thought that was ever going to change.

"You followed me back to my apartment for no good reason?" Shawn pretended to guess, shrugging carelessly, "Some might call that unhealthy fixation. Maybe you should see someone about that."

"I did have a reason." If Shawn's first instinct was sarcasm than Lassiter's was undoubtedly defensive.

"Want some pills?" Shawn joked, getting right to the heart of the matter because when it came to things like this, he just wasn't one for playing games. "'Cause I could share if you want."

Lassiter's expression hardened in an instant. His next words were cold and callous, "The chief wants you off this case."

"Why?" The younger man snapped, eyes narrowing, less thrown off by the subject change than he should have been.

"She thinks you're too emotionally involved."

"You're the one who shot a guy." Shawn countered.

Lassiter threw his hands up, "I did that to save you."

"Maybe that's why they say you shouldn't date people you work with." Shawn stuffed his hands in his pockets and searched desperately for a joke to make this whole situation a little less…real. He came up empty.

"I could have gotten fired." Lassiter all but shouted.

"God forbid," Shawn scoffed.

"Do you take anything seriously?"

"Do you?" The pseudo-psychic countered, and the face off that followed those words was of epic staring contest proportions.

_**A Saturday Afternoon With Our Phone Buddies…**_

"You were talking about your relationship, right?" Gus clarified quietly, not wanting to interrupt but needing to know.

"What else would I have been talking about?" Shawn tried to play it off lightly, not liking what his not-so-distant past was doing to his present. "Lassie's the most serious guy ever."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Shawn repeated, not believing his friend's skeptical tone.

"Maybe." Gus insisted, "I have to hear the rest of the story first."

_**Four Days Ago…Again…**_

"We need to talk." Lassiter caved first, closing his eyes briefly. Shawn almost regretted putting that pained look on his face.

"I'm busy."

"With your _old friend?_" His emphasis on those words clearly implied that he didn't believe Mitch was an old friend of any kind. Which was too bad for Lassiter, since he actually was.

"I'm working a case."

"No, Juliet and I are working a case," Lassiter corrected, sounding mightily stuck up as he did so, "You're staying out of it."

"The dude put a gun to my head and threatened to kill me," Shawn reminded, "You want me to just let that go?"

"Yes."

"Would you?"

There was a brief pause before, "That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"You're taking antidepressants and you never told me!" This time Lassiter _was_ shouting and Shawn was genuinely startled.

"Okay, here's the deal," the younger man held up one hand and spoke as evenly as he could manage, "Either we're fighting about the case or we're fighting about the pills. Pick one, because we don't have time to do both."

"Could we just split the difference and have angry sex?" Lassiter sounded almost serious in his suggestion, before letting loose with a smirk a few moments later.

Shawn couldn't help but chuckle slightly, "And in five minutes we went through the whole rainbow of human emotions." He noted, nodding slightly, "Don't they give people Emmys for that kinda stuff?"

"How come you never told me?" His voice was almost calm now and he moved over so he was half sitting on the back of the couch.

Shawn crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe that led into the only tiny hallway that his apartment possessed. "C'mon, man, you telling me you don't have any secrets?"

"Of course I do, Shawn," Lassiter sighed and the younger man cringed, "But they don't involve narcotics."

"I'm not trafficking anything, Lassie," he said logically, "I'm just…it's hard to explain."

Lassiter shook his head slowly back and forth, "Can you try?"

Shawn glanced over to his kitchen where the red numbers on his microwave indicated that he had twenty-two minutes before his half hour was up officially and about fifteen minutes until Mitch would actually be back. Because Shawn knew his friend and knew he wouldn't risk missing the plane that might very well take him to the thing he'd been after for twenty-five years now.

"I don't see why I should have to justify this to you." Shawn got halfway through a sigh before he caught himself.

"I'm not asking you to justify anything, I'm just…asking you to explain it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

Shawn groaned. "You know, I get why my dad was so freaked out about this when I was a teenager, but really, now a days, who isn't on some kind of upper?"

"_When_ did your dad think you were taking Prozac?" Lassiter crinkled his brow in confusion.

"He didn't. Look, that's not the point." He rubbed the back of his head with his fingers, feeling his thick head of hair bounce around always helped to remind him that, yes, things could be worse. He could be bald. "Man, how many cops do you know that are on antidepressants?"

"I don't know."

"Take a guess."

"I don't know," he repeated, louder this time, "A few."

"Just a few?"

"Okay, quite a few." He admitted and opened his mouth to say something more but Shawn beat him to it.

"Do you work with any of them?"

"Sometimes."

"Are they any worse at their jobs because of it?"

"No."

"Would you ever not work with someone just because they're taking SSRI's?" Shawn demanded.

"No, of course not." Lassiter seemed almost offended by the suggestion and Shawn knew he was telling the truth.

"Then why does it matter so much that I am?" The Irish detective had no answer and suddenly Shawn saw the truth for what it really was. "Oh. I get it."

"You get it?" Lassiter questioned. "What do you get?"

"This isn't about the Prozac," he realized, "This is about me. You're just using this as an excuse to cop out of this…whatever this thing is between us."

"That's not-"

"You got scared you were getting emotionally involved," Shawn explained as if he were unraveling the mystery behind a crime, only his demeanor was anything except accomplished. "And when you shot Freddy boy, you got terrified that it might be impacting your job – god forbid – so you used the first excuse you could to bail."

And as soon as the word _bail _was out of his mouth, it no longer mattered if Shawn believed what he was saying or not. Didn't even matter if it was true. The ghosts were there.

"_My mom bailed when I was a kid." He would tell his friends at school. "She'll pop up every now and then, but mostly, she bailed. _

"_And what about your mother?" Concerned, confused and pissed off teachers would ask._

_Shawn would answer, "She bailed."_

"_Henry," Gus's dad pulled the eldest Spencer aside one evening as he was dropping Shawn off and hoping to make a quick getaway. "You haven't said anything about it. And neither has Shawn…I hate to pry, but…where's Mel?"_

"_She bailed." _

_Bailed _was a toxic word in Shawn's vocabulary. He hated it more than any other word – even _smear_, which admittedly made him nauseous every time he heard it

"You're wrong, Shawn." Lassiter said solemnly.

"Yeah? Then what was it about? Huh? What spooked you so bad when you pulled those pills out of my cabinet?" He wasn't backing down now. "Because freaked out at first I can understand, but it's been almost three days and you come here ranting about a case and emotional involvement and anytime this conversation even touches on personal you punk out."

"I punk out?" Lassiter scoffed, "Ghetto street slang doesn't suit you."

"I'm trying to hold up a real conversation here," with his arms uncrossed and hands waving around, Shawn was pretty damn sure he didn't look that serious; but his tone was true. "So either join in or get the hell out of my apartment."

"Who is that Mitch guy? Really?"

"My drug dealer."

"What are you doing an hour from now?"

"Scoring crack."

"And you say you're _trying _to have a real conversation?" Lassiter laughed a humorless laugh. "Why won't you tell me the truth about that guy?"

"Why won't you tell me the truth about why you took off the other morning?"

"How long are we gonna go around in this circle?"

"Until one of us gets motion sickness and has to get off." Shawn's joke was overridden by the quality of his tone, the tension in his body, and somehow the quip ended up much more metaphoric than he would have liked. "I don't have time for this."

"You're off the Crandall case whether you like it or not." Lassiter bit back.

"Just get out, Carlton."

The use of his first name had been unintentional, but once it was out he couldn't take it back. Lassiter clenched his jaw and straightened his back. Their eyes met and neither would look away, neither would move any closer, and Shawn, not for the first time, just didn't know what to do.

He wasn't sure if he'd believed what he'd said about Lassiter, but the other man hadn't countered him and Shawn was still – as much as he loathed admitting it – hurt from the other morning.

And as Lassiter moved slowly towards the front door, Shawn almost wanted to stop him – nothing had been resolved, nothing had been proved unless Shawn's breakthrough realization had been correct and, most of all, this was not the way he liked to leave things.

When Shawn had been little, his father would always say to him, "I'll see you later, buddy." Or, "I'll see ya later, kiddo." Or, "See ya after school, kid." Every single morning before he left for work, it was always _see ya later;_ never goodbye. And it was always _kid, buddy or kiddo; _never just his name. There would never be any anger in his voice, even if they'd been fighting just moments before.

It took Shawn until he was almost ten years old to figure out that it was a cop thing. Henry knew that there was always a chance he might _not _see his son later, that that morning before school would be the last time his son would see him alive. So he never said goodbye and he never left angry. Never. Not even when Shawn had left for good after turning eighteen.

"_This is it, dad. I'm leaving." Bag packed, hair long, ear pierced and spirit wild – nothing could have stopped him. Not a damn thing. And Henry had stopped trying almost a week ago. _

"_I think you're making the biggest mistake of your life." Or maybe he would never stop trying._

"_I don't really care what you think." _

_Shawn had turned to leave but stopped when his father had called out, "Hey, kid," he didn't turn around, but he did stopped. His dad had followed up with, "I'll see you later." _

That was his past and that was the way he did things. He never left angry, he was very rarely angry at all, thanks in large part to those pills that were currently causing him so much grief. A combination of those antidepressants, Gus, a good therapist in Wyoming and a punching bag had…well, he wouldn't say _saved _his life, because he had never been _that_ depressed; but they had all combined to make his life so much better.

And for the first time in a long time he was leaving something this important on bad terms. It wasn't the first time since he'd been back in California that he'd felt the familiar tug of the deep dark place that he'd lived in for so many years as a teenager. It wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last and he knew in that moment that those pills were vital for his survival. But still, he couldn't help but think that maybe at least some – okay, a lot and he knew it – of this situation was his fault.

Lassiter was walking out of his apartment and he probably thought that Shawn hated him. All Shawn really hated, though, was this feeling; this churning, painful feeling in the pit of his stomach that was ultimately his father's fault. He wanted to be angry at it and knew that ten years ago he probably would have been.

And maybe if the world was perfect and blissful, if people burst into song and danced merrily like they did in those Target commercials; maybe Shawn wouldn't have left their fight like that. Maybe he would have called Lassiter back and demanded a real explanation, a decision, an excuse. A goodbye. Anything except that stony silence and a glimpse into his former depression.

But they didn't live in a perfect world –they sure as hell didn't live in a Target commercial – and in the end, by the time Shawn had summoned up the courage to say, "I'll see ya later, Lassie," the door had already shut behind him and Shawn was talking to himself.

_**TBC**_…

A/N: I liketh reviewers!


	15. Paging Dr Burton Guster

Chapter Fifteen: Paging Dr. Burton Guster to the Psych Ward

_**One Plane Ride Later…**_

"I haven't been here in so long," Shawn sighed reminiscently – those didn't count either. "Wanna stop at a Starbucks?"

"I wanna find Crandall and figure out what he knows about Blaze Ackland." Mitch all but growled in response to Shawn's good humor.

"Ackland?" Shawn parroted, "Isn't that Irish?"

Mitch nodded tightly as they made their way through the airport quickly, heading for baggage claim. Not that either of them had any bags to claim. It was just the same direction as the parking lot where they could grab a cab. It'd been five years since Shawn had last been to this city and he still remembered the way perfectly.

"The gang is tight nit Irish clan," Mitch shared, "Not many members still hang out in this city but I think it's where your suspect is."

"You think?" Shawn repeats, "You think? Dude, I just left my whole life behind without a word to anybody because you said you were _sure _this is where Crandall would be. Now all I get is you _think_?"

"Well I had to get you on the plane, didn't I?" Mitch cast him a sideways glance that was almost playful and Shawn shook his head in awe. Yeah, that was Mitch alright.

"And what if the guy isn't here?" They descended an escalator slowly, not able to push past the overweight woman and her three kids, taking up the whole moving staircase in front of them.

"You waste a few days snooping around with me?" Mitch shrugged, "What are you gonna do if we do find him, anyway?"

Which was a legitimate question, Shawn had to admit. "Call the Chief?"

"You can't extradite someone back to a state where they committed a crime if they're not a resident of that state." Mitch informed him. "Not unless it's a murder charge. This guy off anyone?"

"Not that I know of," Shawn was rather perplexed at this bit of insight and as the two old roommates headed from the bottom of the escalator towards the long hall that would lead them to the parking garage he couldn't help but inquire, "Then what am I doing here, exactly?"

_**Now…**_

"That's a great question, Shawn," Gus interrupted, sounding rather peeved. "Seriously, what were you hoping to accomplish when you set out on this little bust?"

Shawn was silent.

"Oh." All of a sudden his best friend's voice was laced with understanding.

"Gus…"

"You weren't trying to accomplish anything," he told Shawn, as if the other man didn't already know this, "You were fighting with your dad, you were confused about Lassiter, the Chief wouldn't let you get involved with the case and even Juliet seemed to be on their side."

"Gus…" he tried again, but was once more unable to find the words.

"You were running."

"It's in my nature." Shawn said, almost carelessly, but Gus wasn't buying it.

"You're not your mother." He went straight for the heart of it and the fake-psychic, while uncomfortable with the discussion as a whole, had to admire his friend's balls. Figuratively speaking, of course, because as previously established, in thirty years of friendship, he'd never once had the urge to admire those balls up close and personal.

"Not according to my father."

"And you believe everything Henry says?"

"Of course not." The response was so automatic that Shawn almost didn't realize what he was stepping into until he'd already stepped into it. "I just…I needed…"

"You're not eighteen anymore." It was rare, to put it mildly, for Shawn's best friend to engage in any sort of personal or potentially awkward sentiment. In fact, even in all these years of friendship, Shawn himself had only seen it a handful of times. He wondered sometimes how many other people had been privy to it. If he was the only one on the planet who knew what an amazing person Burton Guster was.

"I know that."

"And you're not your mother."

"I know that, too."

"Then why'd you run away?" And there was no point in trying to deny that that's exactly what he'd done, so Shawn just took a deep breath and confided in his best friend.

"I guess I was scared."

"Because you felt like everything was out of your control and that made you feel like you were eighteen again and instead of dealing with it like you should have you hopped a plane to Seattle with your lying, cheating, stealing, felony committing, vengeance seeking ex-roommate to chase down a guy who'd tried to kill you three days before?" It wasn't really a question and they both knew it.

Still, Shawn answered, "You really should have pursued that psychology thing." Well, okay, kind of answered.

"So… you left on Tuesday and it's…almost three in the afternoon on Saturday," Gus had this weird need to keep track of time – Shawn didn't really understand it. "You've been gone almost four solid days. I'm surprised Lassiter _hasn't _filed a missing persons report yet."

"I thought Jules threatened to do that." Shawn recalled the beginning of his and Gus's conversation.

"Well, she did," Gus paused and Shawn knew all he had to do was wait the mandatory ten seconds and he would get the whole truth out of the pharmaceutical salesman. "In truth, though, her message went something like, 'Shawn, if you don't show up soon Lassiter _will_ report you as missing and I'll have to fill _out _that report and frankly, the department just doesn't have enough resources to investigate every single person in the state, let alone the country, who might want you dead. So please, please, call me back.' Or something like that."

"Gus…" Shawn drew out, sounding almost proud, "You lied to me."

"I didn't think it was relevant at the time, Shawn." Gus snapped, sounding agitated again before sighing and more than likely rubbing a hand over his face. "Just tell me you didn't do anything stupid."

"Define stupid."

"Are you in jail?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"My lip scabbed over and turned this awesome shade of purple," Shawn shrugged, "But other than that, no."

"Are you for any legal reason not allowed to leave Washington?"

"Not that I know of."

"Am I going to have to hire a lawyer for anything pertaining to this trip down memory lane?"

"Nope."

"Have you been gambling?"

"No."

"Drinking?"

"No."

"You've been taking your happy pills?" Which was how Gus had referred to the Prozac for the last decade or so, and hearing it for the first time in the duration of their conversation made Shawn smile.

"Sir, yes, sir." He mock shouted in an army-guy type fashion.

"Did anyone die or get seriously injured at all in the last four days?"

"I'm sure someone _somewhere_ did," Shawn mocked, "Probably a whole lot of people, actually."

"_Shawn_." Gus with that warning tone of his.

"But no, no one I was with or near or dealing with or talking to, died or got seriously injured." He answered the question for real, if only to stop the inquiry for continuing.

"Did you actually find Rodney Crandall?"

"Why yes, yes I did." Shawn said lightly, for the first time not too worried about the thickening of the plot, "Well, Mitch did, anyway."

"Okay then…" Gus trailed off, apparently having asked every question he could think of to ask. "I guess you should get back to the story then, huh?"

"An excellent idea, my friend." Shawn agreed easily, "So, we had just made it to the parking garage-"

"Wait, Shawn, one last thing," Gus interrupted again.

"Gus…" his voice was light and petulant but somewhere deep down in his gut he knew what his friend was about to ask. Because if anyone in the whole friggin' world would be able to guess the one monumental factoid he'd left out thus far, it was Gus.

Which was why he wasn't even that surprised when the next words out of Gus's mouth were, "Shawn, while you were in Seattle…was your mom there?"

And Shawn was silent.

_**TBC… **_

A/N: The worst part? I actually do know where this is going. I do. And the fact that it's not done yet is entirely Shawn and Gus's fault. They're both in my head and Shawn won't stop talking and Gus is demanding cliffhangers and…this may very well end up as the longest story I've ever written. Gah! But hey, all three of us like reviews, so feel free…


	16. Time Limits and Taxicabs

A/N: _Okay, so here's the deal; I know a lot of you want slashy Shassie goodness and it will happen, I promise you. I just have to tell the other two parts of the story first and get our dear, beloved Shawn back to Santa Barbara. Really, you should blame them for the lack of slash. I tell Shawn and Gus to hurry up and they just glare at me and tell me to pipe down and keep up because I don't know half as much as they do and they can tell this story better than I can. Then Shawn sticks his tongue out at me and I just end up listening to them because, for some reason, they get along really well with my muse. I'll have to sit down with all three of them once this story is over and figure out what they all have in common so I can use it to my advantage in the future. _

_For now, though, I promise a very Shassie ending. In fact, if you have any requests – little moments you want to see between them or anything - leave ideas in your reviews and I'll try to work them in. It'll be my way of trying to make up for excluding Lassiter for so long. But in the meantime you get tons and tons of Shawn and Gus bickering. _

_Anyway, read on and enjoy._

Chapter Sixteen: Time Limits and Taxicabs

"This is so friggin confusing." Shawn growled out loud, "I mean, on the one hand, I know what happened and I know what order it happened in; on the other hand, I know how to tell it to make it all climatic and exciting, so you kinda forget about my budding bisexual preference and all the drama with Lassiter. But then my _mother _had to be there and, all together, it's like three different story lines and I just…I don't know what I'm doing anymore, man."

"You have had a hell of a week," Gus clucked sympathetically.

"Six and a half days," Shawn corrected, "Not including the three hours we've been on the phone so far."

"Four and a half hours," this time it was Gus correcting.

"Seriously?"

Gus ignored that and started in again on, "Okay, let's break this down."

"Break down my story?" Shawn asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm getting confused, too," Gus admitted, "Now, the Lassiter thing. After you guys fought at your apartment before you left for Seattle, was that the last time you've talked to him?"

Shawn thinks for a moment before responding, "In person, yes. We talked on the phone Tuesday afternoon."

"And that happened…"

"Right before I went to my Aunt Jamie's, stood on her doorstep and ranted for twenty straight minutes about Lassiter." Shawn recalled.

"Which you did after…"

"Mitch got arrested!" Shawn shouted triumphantly, "You were right, Gus, breaking it down did help. I totally know where I'm going now."

Gus was silent for a few seconds before, "Mitch got arrested?"

"Uh, yeah," Shawn scratched his head thoughtfully, "I didn't mention that?"

"I asked you, Shawn," Gus spoke slowly, just like he always did when he was bordering on exasperated but trying to walk the line, "Very specifically; _did anyone get arrested?_ You said no."

"Actually," Shawn was nothing if not upbeat about proving once again how loopholes were his friends. "You asked me if _anyone _had gotten _hurt_ and if _I'd _gotten arrested. Well, no one got hurt and I _didn't_ get arrested. So I haven't lied at all."

Shawn heard Gus take a few deep breaths, probably to level out his heart rate. Sometimes the pseudo-psychic seriously worried that his friend would give himself a heart attack someday – stressing out so much about all these little things.

"So, Shawn," He was doing _pretending-to-placate-while-really-running-out-of-patience _and it made Shawn smile, "What happened? Why did Mitch get arrested?"

"You wanna hear the long version or the short version?" Shawn asked.

"What's the difference?"

"The long version includes the detailed explanation of why me and Mitch split up about two seconds after we got out of the airport," Shawn explained, "The short version just tells you that we did split up, for some ambiguous reason, and goes from there."

"Is the reason important?" Gus asked between slightly clenched teeth.

"Not so much to the plot," Shawn cracked a few of his knuckles and smiled, "But it's pretty funny."

"Sum it up for me." The other man decided.

"Dude, that's no fun." Shawn had this superpower – he could _sound _like he was pouting. Or making any face or gesture at all, really; ones that had no emotional attachment. He could _sound _like he was quirking an eyebrow or scratching his nose or spreading his arms out and pretending to fly. He could even sound like he was glaring. It was pretty awesome, if he did say so himself.

"Tough, Shawn, we're running out of time." Of course, Shawn often forgot that his best friend had a superpower of his own – he could carelessly deflect all of Shawn's faces and gestures – his pouts, his glares, his lip trembling, his hand gesturing – Gus's superpower was to make _Shawn's _superpower completely powerless. Which was why he almost always ended up dragging, tricking or drugging his friend into making him do the really, really cool stuff.

Suddenly Shawn wished that he wasn't miles away from home, that he was _right there _like he always was, to get things to go his way. And, yeah, okay, maybe he missed Gus a little. So what?

"We're running out of time?" Shawn mocked, never one to let the failure of his superpower get him down, "We're being timed?"

"No, but you have a flight to catch in an hour."

And for the first time in a long ass time, Shawn Spencer was stunned into silence.

"Gus," he began slowly, completely in awe, "How'd you know that? You're not harboring real fake secret psychic powers, are you?"

"Real fake secret?" The much more adult man repeated, "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, either you really are psychic, or you really _did _implant me with a tracking device after getting stranded in Mexico the second time like you threatened to do for a month after we got back." Shawn already had four good solid theories in mind about how Gus had come about that information, but, nevertheless – it was damn impressive.

"You used the Expedia website," Gus explained like it should have been the simplest thing in the world to figure out, "Under the same screen name you use for everything."

"Now that's not true," Shawn defended, "I use different screen names."

"Hasselhoff Hernandez every time you use the Visa, Ferris Broderick when you use the MasterCard, Kevin Stein every time we're looking into a case that Juliet asked us to help out on – by the way, I still don't get that one." Gus listed these off easily and Shawn was sure that _damn impressive _had been an understatement.

"Kevin Stein was the name of the guy she was engaged to in Miami." Shawn explained without question, still awestruck.

"And, what, you're a masochist?"

"Only if I was secretly in love with her, Gus," Shawn pointed out. "And that, unfortunately, is written no where in this plot. Because hell if that wouldn't have been Becky-Johansson-in-the-back-of-my-dad's-truck-sophomore-year easier."

"Is it ever really written?" He wondered out loud, ignoring the slutty girl reference, "Isn't love unpredictable fate divined from the God of Let's Act like Idiots?"

Shawn mulled over that for a moment before deducing, "Still not over Sara, huh?"

"Bite me."

"Mira was a fun one, too." Shawn continued, "How many romantic, idiot inducing skeletons are in your closet?"

"And every single time you register on a porn website, I, somehow, end up with the spam emails," Gus ignored the sarcastic question all together, "Want me to keep going?"

"No, not really," Shawn admitted, knowing that after the porn, his online aliases got a wee bit incriminating, "Now, how long have you known all this?"

"Since we started a business together," Gus snapped, "You're favorite sites are bookmarked all over the place."

"Don't we have two computers for this very reason?"

"Says Mr. No-sense-of-personal-space-or-boundaries-or-rules." Gus's sarcasm was drier than Shawn's, harder to pluck out of his natural tone if you didn't know what you were listening for. Unlike Shawn, who just always sounded like he was mocking everything and everyone – even when he wasn't.

"So you went online and checked to see if I'd booked a flight home?" Dodging personal attacks on his lack-of-boundaries issue wasn't so much a superpower as a developed skill, but hey, could he help it if Gus was easily distracted?

"No, I went online to book you a flight home," he admitted, "But I checked your recent history just to be sure."

"And my password?"

"Is always Dick Tracey."

"And how long have you known this? That I had a flight back to Santa Barbara booked?"

"About two hours." Gus admitted, "And you really didn't need to waste an extra two hundred bucks on first class."

"Dude, you know I have very sensitive back muscles." Shawn spoke seriously, and was only half sure that he wasn't. "I can't stay sitting in tiny cramped seats for longer than twenty two minutes at a time. We've been through this; it's why we don't go to movies anymore."

"That, and your thirteen year old mentality and need to throw sour skittles at the screen once you've figured out how the movie is gonna end." Gus reminded.

"Plots are predictable." Shawn whined, "Just once I'd like to see a movie where everyone splits a giant pineapple over blue acid martinis at the end."

"You invented the blue acid martini at the end of our senior year, Shawn," Gus reminded, "And no, they will never catch on."

"People don't know what they're missing." Shawn sighed disappointedly.

"Hey, speaking of plots," Gus shamelessly changed the subject, "Didn't we have one to get back to?"

"Oh, right," He shook his head to clear it and shifted in his chair – a big, fluffy, comfortable one, thank you very much. "Uh, okay." He cleared his throat, "Mitch had two leads, a supposed cousin of Crandall's in University District and an old college roommate in Everett. We were gonna take them both together, one at a time, but when we got outside to grab a Taxi-"

"Let me guess," Gus interrupted – he'd gotten so good at that these last few hours. "They had those green ones?"

"Taxis should not be green," Shawn launched straight into rant mode, automatically defending his one weird, obsessive quirk. "Grass? Yes. Jolly Ranchers? Sure. A bright, lively shirt? Absolutely. Even a normal car, why not? But not Taxis. They're yellow. They're always yellow. Did you ever see a green Cab on an episode of _Taxi_? No, I don't think so."

"Is there a difference between Taxis and Cabs?"

"Random much?"

"Side note, sorry" Gus grunted, "Go on."

"Taxi. Cab. Taxicab." Shawn was thoughtful now, having been given a new thought to ponder. "Cab-a-Taxi. Taxi…cab. Taxicab."

"_Shawn_."

"Taxicab. _Taxi_cab. Taxi…_cab. _A cabin…with a tax? Taxi…Tax…a cab. Tax a cab?" Shawn paused, "Great, now that doesn't even sound like a word anymore."

"So you and Mitch split up because you're afraid of green cars," Gus was without doubt feeling very sorry that he'd mentioned anything about it in the first place.

"Green Tax…cab…green public transportation cars." Shawn clarified. "And I'm not _afraid. _I just think their existence will eventually punch a hole in the space time continuum."

"So you split up…" And he was trying so hard.

"Yeah, no, that's it," Shawn shrugged, "I went to check out the old roommate, Mitch went to check out the cousin and two hours later Mitch called me from jail after he'd been falsely accused of trying to kill Michael Crandall."

"The cousin?" Gus's voice was loaded down with exhaustion. There was no point in even trying to act surprised by anything anymore.

"It's always the cousin." Shawn reminded. "Or the wife. Or the husband. Or the bellboy. But since neither of the other three were applicable…of course it was the cousin."

"So Mitch got arrested," Gus followed along, "And you got…"

"Some awesome weed from this dude named Freddy." Shawn filled in.

"You don't smoke." Gus pointed out.

"I could sell it." Shawn suggested.

"How are you gonna get it past airport security?" His tone was doubtful and Shawn couldn't help but smirk.

"Hope they don't have those drug sniffing dogs out and about?"

"Get rid of it." He demanded in that grown-up tone he had that left no room for argument. He had a stray thought that when Gus got around to having kids, he'd probably be at least a somewhat overprotective parent. But that was okay, because Uncle Shawn would be right there to teach those kids how, why and when to break even the most important of rules.

At his friend's parental-like demand, Shawn sighed mockingly, "I already gave it to my Aunt Jamie."

"Aunt Jamie smokes pot?" Gus sounded a little surprised to hear that.

"She's a free spirit."

"Runs in your family." And he was without doubt rolling his eyes.

"That's not connected to the bigoted asshole gene, is it?" Shawn asked, sounding worried, "Or the receding hairline one?"

"You're nothing like your father." Gus assured.

"I've been told we have the same nose."

"That gene's defiantly not connected to any of the others."

"You sure?"

The other man made an agitated sound and waited a few seconds before, "So Mitch got arrested and you got nowhere. When did you go to your Aunt's?"

"After Mitch told me his bail was five thousand dollars."

"Which is five thousand more than you have."

"More than that, with the plane tickets."

"So you were basically screwed?"

"Yup," Shawn smiled at the memory of the complete and utter bad luck that had befell him that day. "Pretty much."

TBC…

A/N: _There_ _will be some Shassie goodness in the next chapter. Promise. So don't forget to review. The more reviews I get the faster Shawn and Gus and my muse make me type_.


	17. Beep Talk Fast Beep

Chapter Seventeen: _Beep_ Talk Fast _Beep_

_**Three and a Half Days Ago…**_

"Well…" Shawn fingered the dime bag of weed in his pocket as he mumbled dejectedly to himself, "That was fun and exciting."

Freddy Gates had been less than helpful in Shawn's quest to find Rodney Crandall.

"_Who?" He'd squinted at the invasion of sunlight when he'd opened the door to Shawn and was now standing before him, one hand against the door jam holding him up. _

"_Your college roommate," Shawn repeated, trying hard to stay friendly. This guy was straight out of a stoner movie – stained wife beater tank top, hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in days, saggy, paint splattered pants and several weeks' worth of stubble. "Rodney Crandall."_

"_Haven't seen him since I dropped out sophomore year," Freddy grunted. _

_Shawn looked behind him and into the one room apartment that Freddy boy was making no effort to hide from his view. There was a single open beer can sitting on the coffee table, three sweatshirts and four pairs of jeans scattered on the floor – and going by memory, Shawn knew that Rodney Crandall was a little bigger and much taller than the lanky guy standing in front of him. There was no way any of those clothes could have been his. Plus there was a dog sitting in the center of the mess carelessly chewing on a shoe that, again, couldn't have been Crandall's. _

"_You wan' somethin' else?" Freddy was just itching to get back to his mid-afternoon beer, Shawn could tell. _

"_No, that should do it." Shawn smiled brightly as Freddy grumbled something incomprehensible. _

"_Wait a sec," he said, then reached behind the front door and fiddled with a drawer on the side table. When he faced Shawn again he went to shake his hand and Shawn – never one to be rude – took it despite his confusion. "For your trouble." Freddy grinned and closed the door before Shawn could get a word in edgewise. _

The guy had been more than a little drunk, and probably high, if the still smoking bong setting on top of the TV was any indication, and Shawn left his apartment the proud new owner of a little baggie of fragrant green plant.

He hadn't smoked pot – or cigarettes, or anything – since he'd been…twenty-two years old. The smell that lingered on his fingers after he'd stuck the baggie into his pocket made him so nostalgic that he seriously considered walking down the street and buying a pipe so he could go smoke a bowl in an alley.

It was a fleeting thought, of course. He'd given up drugs a long time ago. But still, it was tempting.

Luckily, before his willpower could be truly tested, his cell phone, as he was walking slowly down the street away from Freddy's house, started chiming a happy tune from inside his pocket.

Thinking it was Mitch calling to tell him how it'd gone at the cousin's, Shawn answered without glancing at the caller ID. Sometimes he overestimated himself like that, acted like he really was psychic. He would answer the phone without looking or when he was at the Psych office, he would start talking when he heard the door open and shut, sure that it was Gus who'd entered.

A few weeks ago, this annoying little habit of his had caused quite an embarrassing moment between him and a potential client.

He'd trade in reliving that particular blunder a thousand times over if it meant he'd gained the foresight to check his damn caller ID. Alas, actions of criminals and Gus and his father aside, Shawn Spencer had no foresight.

"Hello?"

"Shawn? It's Lassiter."

He really, _really _needed to work on checking his caller ID.

"I'm kinda busy over here, Lassie," Shawn tried to sound casual and scratched his head in nervousness. "Can I call you back?"

"You're not working the Crandall case, are you?" He asked suspiciously.

Shawn glanced around him; he was walking down the street in downtown Everett. In the five minutes since he'd left the dead end lead apartment he'd passed a tattoo parlor, a healthcare place that claimed on the side of the window that they could make you a nurse in six months, several convenience stores and two smoke shops. If he kept walking the way he was, he'd get to the Transit Center in several blocks.

"No, Lassiter," he bold-face lied to the man that, just two days ago, he was sure that he was in love with. "I'm not working the case. I'm taking some time off."

The older man was silent for a long moment before speaking again, his voice doubtful and almost hopeful at the same time. "I didn't know you did that."

"I've had a crappy couple days."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh," Shawn licked his lips thoughtfully.

"What?" Lassiter demanded.

"No, nothing," Shawn lied obviously, "I just think that's the first time you've said that."

"You're pissed," It wasn't a question, but the words were laced with a certain forlorn sadness.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't be?" Shawn tried his best to sound honestly confused, knowing the act would piss Lassiter off, but somehow the question came out pained and almost sarcastic.

"Look, I know what you're thinking-"

"Oh, you're a psychic now?" This time it was overflowing with sarcasm because, once again, Shawn Spencer just couldn't manage anything else. "Quick, what are tomorrow night's lottery numbers?"

"You think that I'm using these pills as an excuse to bail out on this thing we have," Lassiter ignored the sarcasm, which was rare.

"That's not psychic," Shawn tutted at him, "I told you that."

"But it's not true," Lassiter sounded like he was pleading, but Shawn knew he couldn't be hearing that right. Lassiter didn't plead. Well, not outside of bed, anyway.

"You didn't deny it." Shawn pointed out. He was walking faster and faster the more personal this conversation got. Soon he'd be trotting, then jogging, then running and within a couple blocks he'd be sprinting. And damn it all to hell if there wasn't some metaphorical, psychological point to be made there.

"I know." Lassiter's sad desperation was interrupted for a brief moment by an ill-timed _beep. _"Look, there's a reason, okay? If you would just – _beep – _to me, I know-"

"Lassie, I gotta go," Shawn pulled the phone away from his ear just long enough to glance down at the screen and see a number he didn't recognize flashing as an incoming call. He put the phone back to his ear. "That's my other line."

"Let it go to voicemail."

"Really can't," Shawn said hurriedly, "I'm in the middle of someth-_beep- _I really gotta take this."

"Shawn, I have to tell you something," There was no doubt about it now, Lassiter was defiantly pleading.

His thumb was poised over the _Send _button that would transfer him to his other line, the speaker an inch or two away from his ear. "Lassie, I can't-_beep- _please, now is not a good time for-"

"I love you."

And his hand slipped less than a millisecond after he heard the words, cutting Lassiter off and switching the line over to whoever was calling him. But it didn't matter. Didn't matter that he hadn't been able to ask Lassiter to repeat it and it didn't matter that he was now stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and gaping aimlessly at nothing.

He'd heard it. He'd been trained to hear a burglar upstairs, an attacker four rooms away, a conversation five tables over. He'd heard it.

_I love you._

He'd heard it.

_I love you. _

He'd never expected it to go that way.

When he'd been with women, he never said it; he always refused to be one of those guys who say it to get sex. He could get sex just fine on his own, thank you very much. But sometimes he would think about finding the perfect woman and telling her.

It never went like that.

Over the past year and half he'd envisioned the moment more than once. Before him and Lassiter had…whatever they had, and he'd finally admitted that he really was bisexual – and not just experimenting like he'd convinced himself in his earlier years - he'd imagined it with Juliet.

That perfect moment. That candlelit dinner on the Eifel Tower, shouting it as loud as he could as they were chasing bulls in Spain, curled up together in front of a roaring fire, typed out specifically for her inside a fortune cookie…he saw it again and again.

_I love you._

He was getting older, as hard as it was to admit, and even before Lassiter, he'd been thinking about thinking about considering at least trying to settle down sometime in the maybe-no-so-near future. But the funny thing was, the more he pictured these little moments with Jules, the less he was one of the two main characters in his fantasy.

Over time it had become, _Gus would never go to Spain to chase bulls, _and _That fortune cookie thing would be awesome, I could totally help him with that. _And maybe it was just because Gus was his best friend and Jules was the most interesting, attractive, intelligent, single female that he knew, but more and more Shawn had been picturing the two of them together.

And, yeah, he was pretty sure he loved Lassiter, but he'd never even had a fake relationship with a guy. All he'd ever had was a few drunken one-night stands. So, no, he had no idea how any of it worked. He'd been figuring, though, that since they were both guys, these things would never be mentioned out loud. Or if they were, it would be only in a joking manner; he and Lassiter would be the only two that knew the words were real.

_I love you._

He hadn't bee expecting this.

"Shawn?" Mitch's voice on the other end of his cell phone. "Shawn?" And then, _beep._

"Hold on a sec," Shawn anxiously tore the phone away from his head and looked down to confirm that Lassiter was calling him back. That this _I love you _would not be accidently ignored and misinterpreted.

_Low Battery. _

Well, crap on a stick. He put the phone back to his ear, "Mitch, my phone's dying, I can't-"

"I found Crandall at his cousin's place. The bastards tried to kill me –_beep – _arrested for attempted murder." Mitch sounded beyond pissed.

"They got arrested?" It wasn't a stupid question. If Crandall had gotten arrested before Mitch could grill him about the gang he was so intent on finding, he _would _be pissed.

As it was, however, "No, _I _got arrested. His cousin's a cop. They – _beep –_ink the gun was mine. It wasn't. Shawn, you have to bail – _beep- _out. I have to find them. They set me-"

His phone jingled its happy little 'I'm turning off now' tune and Shawn was left still standing stock still in the middle of a busy Everett street, useless cell phone in his hand, wondering what the hell it was he was going to do next.

_**Currently, With the Clock A Ticking…**_

"I'm impressed, Gus," Shawn congratulated, once he'd gotten his breath back, "You didn't interrupt once."

"He loves you?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Shawn chuckled; never really offended by anything Gus said, let alone the way he said it. "I am very loveable."

"You fight, you tell him to get out after he _freaked _out. And then he loves you?"

"I was kinda guessing that the one had something to do with the other things." Shawn shrugged.

"You haven't talked to him since then?"

"You know I haven't," he rolled his eyes; "We've been over that."

"And you think me and Juliet are gonna get together?" He'd moved from one shock to the next, "Since when?"

"You wouldn't want to?" Shawn avoided the question and posed his own.

"Well…she is…I mean…she's…" Gus was taken aback by the thought, having never had it himself presumably, and Shawn waited for the blundering to stop and the avoidance to begin. "That's not the damn point, Shawn."

"No," Shawn agreed, smiling. "It's just the point. You can leave the damn at home."

"So, Lassiter loves you?"

Shawn pouted, "You're mean."

"And you're still running out of time," Gus pointed out.

"Give it to me straight, man." Shawn mocked a hard-ass demand.

"Forty seven minutes." Gus informed. Shawn was about to speak, but was cut off, "Wait," his friend started again, "How fast can you get to the airport?"

"Uh…twenty minutes." He thought about it. "Ten, if I speed."

"Make that half an hour," Gus amended, "And I'm only giving you seven minutes to get through security and make it to the gate."

"I can do it." He assured.

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

Gus took a deep breath, "Talk fast."

_**TBC…. **_


	18. Beginning of the End

Chapter Eighteen: Beginning of the End

_**With The Dramatic Tick-Tick-Tick Looming in the Background…**_

Shawn ran his tongue over his teeth and thought that it'd been way too long since he'd brushed them, as they still kinda felt fuzzy from the coffee he'd had this morning before calling Gus. "Hey," he started, "What else did Lassiter's messages say?"

"Shawn, we really don't have time for this," Gus pointed out.

But, little did Gus know, "Don't worry, dude, the story's almost over. It has a bit of an anti-climatic ending."

"After all that?" Gus said doubtfully.

"Dude, _all that _was more than enough to get me on the Best Seller's List," Shawn pointed out.

"We're not writing a book," the other man said firmly.

"Short stories?" Shawn threw out hopefully.

"No."

"Novella?"

"Hell, no." Gus seemed truly offended by that thought.

"Movie script?"

There was a pause – in which Gus was without doubt going over all the pros and cons of even sarcastically agreeing to anything – and then, "Maybe,"

"Dude," Shawn began excitedly, "This is gonna be so awesome. Tom Cruise can play me, and Denzel, of course, for you, and Juliet could be-"

"But only after," Gus cut off his ramblings loudly, "You finish the story, come home and talk to Lassiter."

Shawn pouted and he knew Gus heard it in his voice. "No fair."

"Finish the story."

"Tell me what Lassiter's messages said," Shawn countered.

Gus sighed but, in the sake of saving time no doubt, he complied. "The first time he called he didn't leave a message. It was just breathing for a few seconds and then he hung up."

"Sounds about right," Shawn nodded, "Then what?"

"_Shawn, I…I don't know…I…I'll talk to you later." _

"_Shawn, it's been over a day and you won't call me back. I've left messages on your cell, but it's going straight to voicemail so either you turned it off to avoid me or it died or…will you just call me back?"_

"_Look, you immature, petulant thirty going on twelve year old. This is not how these things work. We need to…you know what? If you wanna fight, we can fight. Just show up and I'll take you. No guns." _

"_This is getting old, Spencer." _

"_Two days. Two days, Shawn. Two days and I've got nothing. No call, no message, no smoke signal, no psychic message. This is getting ridicules." _

"_Look, I'm sorry, okay? But this isn't about…Rodney Crandall is still on the loose and you're no where to be found. I've…me and O'Hara have been to your apartment, that hole in the wall you call an office, every single Java Juice in the area and that disgusting Indian restaurant you like so much. Chief Vick even called Henry. So I seriously suggest you come out of hiding right now or I'll…I…just stop playing games, Shawn." _

"_You went to try to find him, didn't you? I knew it; I knew you would do something stupid. We ran an extensive background check on Crandall and his father was a member of a gang in the late 70's before he died. The same gang that Mitch Bowers has a known vendetta against. We talked to the police in three different precincts and they all say he's a dangerous guy. I can't believe he was right there and I didn't…you're insane, you know that, right?"_

"_Shawn…Mitch Bowers…you…I'm sorry, but do you have a death wish? Why was he in your apartment? How do you know him? Shawn…we could arrest you and Bowers right now, and I…damn it, Shawn, what the hell…do you know how difficult you make my life?"_

"_I'm getting sick of this thing. Show up so I can yell at you in person. Please?"_

"And then the last one I already told you," Gus sighed, "That's it."

"So you knew about Mitch before I even started telling this story," Shawn said thoughtfully, "You must have figured out that something was going on with Lassiter, too."

"I put a few pieces together," Gus admitted, "But I wanted to hear it all from you."

"Very sneaky, Guster," Shawn said proudly, "Very sneaky. I've taught you well."

"Please, Shawn." Gus tssked at him. "By the way, why _has_ your cell been dead for four days?"

"Please, Gus," Shawn mocked his exasperated tone from just moments ago, "Do you really think I thought to pack my charger?"

"We really need to work on that foresight thing," Gus mumbled. "And, also, I know you're stalling again."

"Oh, yeah?" Shawn inquired lightly, "Why would I being doing that?"

"Four days ago, mid-afternoon, Mitch got arrested," Gus sited his story, "Four days ago, late afternoon, you managed to get to your Aunt's place."

"I took the bus." Shawn filled in, "I met this guy named Marty. Now there's a funny story."

Gus wasn't biting this time, "You didn't have the money to bail him out and no way to prove to the police that he _wasn't_ trying to kill Rodney and his cousin – the cousin being a cop is an ironic side note we'll get to later – and you already admitted that your mom was there for some reason. It's the only part of the story you have yet to tell."

Shawn bit his lip, "I could just skip over that part and tell you how I got Mitch out of jail," he suggested.

"No."

"It's a short story," Shawn insisted. "It's the anti-climatic part, actually. All I had to do was get the police in Seattle to talk to the SBPD."

"But if you'd called the chief or Juliet or anyone, really, they would tell Lassiter and since you haven't talked to Lassiter since you accidently hung up on him after he told you he loved you, I know that didn't happen," Gus figured, "So…"

"Ah," Shawn began, trying to sound brilliant and silently patting himself on the back for having averted the issue of his mother, "But that would only be if I'd called one of the above mentioned people."

"The above mentioned included _anyone._" Gus reminded. "So stop-"

"Anyone, _really,_" Shawn reminded haughtily, "Who at that police station do we know that would willingly talk to the cops in Seattle, has the authority to get Crandall arrested and would be willing to hide that they'd talked to me to do it?"

"You can con anyone, Shawn," Gus sighed, annoyed, "But most people would prefer to keep their jobs, and lying about that would…" his friend trialed off, thoughts taking off in the direction Shawn was pointing to and it didn't take him long to figure out, "Buzz."

"Righty-oh, my good friend," Shawn's fake British accent was as horrible as it ever was, but somehow he just didn't think Gus minded all that much.

"You got Buzz to talk to the cops in Seattle and that's how that part of the story ended?" Gus sounded almost outraged and Shawn was glad he could throw him a bone.

"No, that's how I got Rodney Crandall arrested and Michael Crandall questioned about why he had an illegal gun in his home and, oh yeah, why he was harboring a fugitive."

"Did he get fired?" Gus now seemed legitimately interested and Shawn was quick to fill in all the blanks, hoping that once he did he'd be done.

"Suspended for the gun," he explained, "He claimed he didn't know about Rodney's little hold up in Santa Barbara so I think he got off on that. Rodney's in jail, he had outstanding warrants in this state for a couple different crimes. They can't charge his with the hold up at the bar, but everything else is enough to keep him in jail for at least five years, assuming he doesn't get probation."

"So, is Mitch still in jail?" Gus asked thoughtfully, trying hard to keep up with the not-so-climatic ending of this particular chapter of Shawn's story.

"He got out this morning," Shawn admitted, "He was pissed that Crandall wasn't available to answer any of his questions, but he did find out that his father had been in the gang," letting out a long over due breath of release, "He caught a plane this morning to Montana, where Rodney Crandall's father has lived most of his life."

"That's it?" Gus asked, sounding befuddled and disappointed, "Wasn't he still wanted for attempted murder?"

"He claimed self-defense," Shawn shrugged, "After Buzz told them about Crandall and they actually looked into it, all the charges were dropped and he got off scot free."

"After three…two and a half days?" His best friend was quite fond of picking apart the details. "It took that long to run a background check?"

"And verify what Buzz told them and look into…dude, I don't know," Shawn sighed, "He probably just pissed off a few people while he was in there and they made his paperwork vanish for a day or two."

"He _is_ your friend," Gus sighed.

"Well, there you have it," Shawn said excitedly, "End of story."

"Right," And he should have known better than to think that Gus would seriously let it go after a five minute nut shelling. But, hey, could you blame a guy for hoping? "Now, what about your mom?"

Shawn sighed for probably not the last time during the duration of this story, finally giving up the thought that he could avoid them. He licked his lips and knew that, this time, it really would lead up to the end.

Of course, before he started, he couldn't help but throw in, "Dude, you suck."

_**Three and a Half Days Ago…**_

"Aunt Jamie," Shawn whined, "I'm not doing anything stupid or…ya know, life threatening."

"I still talk to your father now and then," Jamie was at the kitchen counter making a fresh pot of coffee and Shawn was sitting soundly at the kitchen table, the head of her great big Golden Retriever resting soundly in his lap. Sadie was panting happily; glad to see Shawn for the first time in almost two years. "I know about this whole detective psychic thing you've got going on."

"Oh, I bet Henry had a lot to say about that," Shawn's voice was more dismal than it was sarcastic. His Aunt Jamie had trademarked sarcasm, of every variety, and Shawn found it difficult most times to use the defense she had taught him around her.

"He's proud of you, Shawnie," She said confidently. "He worries, of course. I don't see why, though. It's not like you leave the state without telling anyone to go hunt down your would-be murderer."

"Hey, it's the first time," Shawn defended, absently petting Sadie.

"That you've done something this dangerous or that you've done something this dangerous outside your zip code?" She inquired, adding an extra scoop of coffee grounds to make it nice and strong – just the way they both liked.

"That I've done something this dangerous without Gus," Shawn clarified.

"Where is he, anyway?" Jamie inquired, turning the pot on and sitting down across from her nephew as her overly spoiled, full grown 'puppy' laid down at Shawn's feet. "I haven't seen that boy since y'all were teenagers."

"He's out of town," Shawn answered, "He'd kill me if he knew I was here."

"Well," Jamie clucked her tongue and laughed just a little, "This is quite a situation you've gotten yourself into."

"Hey, I was just trying to avoid Lassiter," Shawn defended, "I didn't know it'd turn into…this."

"I'm not surprised. Trouble always did seem to follow you around."

"I've actually got a theory about that," Shawn was distracted suddenly. He'd been so overwhelmed with Lassiter and Mitch related thoughts when he'd first gotten here, he hadn't really been aware of his surroundings. Now that he was calmer and sitting down, with coffee brewing quietly in the background and Sadie contently asleep at his feet, he took a moment to survey his Aunt's spacious apartment.

There was an extra blanket folded up on the couch in the living room that Shawn had a clear view of from the kitchen, along with a pillow jammed halfway under the cushions. There were several plates stacked in the sink and Shawn knew his Aunt was somewhat of a neat freak – well, it was more like she had a phobia of bugs getting into her house – but he was sure she wouldn't have let that many dishes accumulate over the course of a week or two. And there were at least two week's worth of dishes in the sink – if she'd been the only one eating here.

Sadie had barely barked when he'd first gotten here and normally, that dog was not used to people, even if she did know them. There was a bulk pack of toilet paper sitting in the hallway outside the bathroom door and two recently used umbrellas hanging on the coat rack by the front door.

"Shawn?" His aunt noticed his silence.

"Jamie…" Shawn began slowly, "Is someone else staying here?"

The older woman whom Shawn had known and looked up to for most of his life was even less found of grown-up sighs than Shawn himself was, and the pseudo-psychic watched as she started to, but stopped herself halfway through one of those fear inducing sighs.

"Brilliant as always," she complimented, "You know, I read about that string of murders last year. You know, the ones where the killer was trying to pass them off as suicides. You do good work, Shawn. You have everything your father taught you and an…originality that's just all you. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Aunt Jamie," He said sincerely, "That really does mean a lot."

"But I'm still dodging your question?" She asked and laughed when Shawn nodded almost apologetically. "I really wasn't expecting you to show up today, Shawn. If I had known I would have at least had time to tell you."

"Tell me…?"

"That you mother lost her job in New York and she's been staying with me the last few weeks."

Shawn wasn't surprised. Not really. Because this was his life. It only made sense - his mother being in town would be the only possible capper to an already fantastic couple days.

"Well…uh…I mean, how's she doing?" He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He hadn't seen his mom in two years, hadn't spoken to her in months. He'd defend her until the world ended when he was with his father, but actually seeing her, being near her…it made him remember his childhood, made him feel almost scared. Uncertain, for sure; like nothing was solid and everything was about to change.

It was moments like this that he knew the Prozac was doing its job. That deep-dark depressed place loomed so close in moments like this; but the chemicals in his body were keeping it at bay. He could almost feel the fight in his mind – depression vs. Prozac. And thank the Gods of western medicine, the Prozac was winning.

"She's doing alright," Jamie nodded, tone completely serious. "That rehab place in San Francisco really did its job. The second time. She's been completely sober since you were eighteen."

"You're sure?" He couldn't help but ask. He remembered too many lies not to ask.

"I'm sure." And if anyone in the world could say that with absolute certainty, it was his mother's sister.

"Good, that's-" he unintentionally cut himself off with a big yawn, accompanied with a cat-like stretch that made Sadie lift her head and made a disgruntled sound. "-good, really." He finished as if that yawn hadn't just happened.

He should have known better. "Shawn, when's the last time you slept?"

The young man shrugged, but the truth was surely written all over his face. Jamie shook her head fondly, "I think you should take a nap."

"But what about-"

Shawn wasn't sure which of his half a dozen dilemmas he was planning on using as an excuse, but his Aunt cut him off before he could figure it out. "Your mom's out looking for a job, so she won't be home for a few hours. Your friend being in jail is not something you can fix right now. You need to go get some rest so you can think clearly."

"But-"

"Nope," she cut off again. "You're whining. You only whine when you're tired. It's time to take a nap."

Shawn knew he didn't really have a say in the matter, and he never fought with his favorite – well, only – Aunt, anyway. And he really was tired. Maybe everything wouldn't seem so…overwhelming, after a few hours of shuteye.

"Fine," he sighed dramatically, mockingly, and stood up with his Aunt.

"You can sleep in my room for a while," she was saying. "Just don't let Sadie in the bed with you."

Twenty minutes later found Shawn Spencer spread out under the covers on his Aunt's unworldly comfortable Queen sized bed, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting in from the kitchen soothingly.

Sadie was curled up comfortably at his side, and Shawn was asleep within minutes.

_**TBC…**_


	19. Once Upon a Kidnapping in Texas

Chapter Nineteen: Once Upon a Kidnapping in Texas

_**Three Days Ago…**_

"Shawn!" His mother shouted excitedly as he padded out of the bedroom, causing Sadie to bark and his Aunt Jamie to drop a dish into the sink. Seconds later his mother was all arms and legs around him and Shawn really had no choice but to hug her back.

Mel was only a handful of years younger than Henry, but she looked closer to Shawn's age. She had the same hair as her sister, only hers was long and flowing down her back, whipping around his shoulder as she hugged him tight.

She was shorter than her son by no more than and inch or two and, as always, she was dressed as casually as could be – jeans, t-shirt – the whole comfortable fashion sense ran in his family.

When his mom finally let go of him, he stepped back and rubbed his eyes, "Wha' time isit?"

Sadie barked again as his Aunt pointed towards the clock on the microwave. "Eleven thirty?" He read aloud, awestruck, "In the morning?"

"You were damn tired, kid," his Aunt Jamie smirked fondly.

"Yeah," him mom pitched in, "She wouldn't even let me wake you up last night."

Shawn wasn't much of a morning person – at all – so he just kind of sat down at the kitchen table and watched as the next twenty minutes or so played out in front of him, quietly sipping his coffee.

His Aunt and him mom moved together like retired dancers who never really lost the flow of it. His mom took out the cereal and Jamie took out the milk, one grabbed spoons as the other grabbed bowls. Mel reached for something, couldn't find it, turned to her sister, made a vague expression and hand gesture and Jamie nodded, reached up and pulled a bag of mini marshmallows out of the cabinet.

Sometimes, Shawn wished he could have had a little brother or sister.

More often than that, Shawn wished his dad would have just let Gus move in with them when they were kids.

After breakfast – Luck Charms all around – and another cup of coffee, his Aunt Jamie had to leave for work and, five minutes after that, Shawn was alone with his mom for the first time in two years.

"Well, look at you," his mom gushed, leaning back and staring at her son. "It's been way too long, Shawnie."

The young man usually so full of words and excitement, just nodded slightly and sipped at his second cup of coffee. He could blame it on the excess sleep or the fact that it usually took him at least two full cups of coffee to get going in the morning, but he knew that wasn't really why he was being quiet.

"Well," she sighed happily and crossed her legs casually. Sadie was sitting soundly next to Shawn, her head in his lap once again. He got the feeling that the dog was trying to protect him somehow. "How's that private detective gig going?" She finally asked, leaving Shawn no choice but to talk.

"I'm a psychic, mom," he said seriously, "Ask anyone."

"Of course," she nodded like she really believed him. "I just find it so strange that, after all those years of fighting with your father, you ended up working for the police."

Shawn clenched his teeth just a little but then took a deep breath and tried his best to sound upbeat. "There's a huge difference between being a cop and a psychic, mom," he informed her. "Most notably, there's a lot less paperwork."

Mel laughed at that, "So, you like your job?"

Shawn smiled genuinely, "Yeah, mom. I like my job."

"So, tell me about this friend of yours that's in jail," she started again, taking a drink of her own coffee as Shawn almost choked on his.

"Wh-what'd Aunt Jamie tell you?" Shawn asked, lowering his mug, almost afraid of the answer. He'd told his Aunt some very personal things the day before. Things that, while he didn't mind her or Gus knowing, he maybe didn't want his mother to know.

"Oh, ya know," his mom waved a hand carelessly, "Just that you're working on a case and a friend of yours ended up in jail."

Shawn breathed a sigh of great relief. "Yeah, well, he was set up."

"By who?" Mel inquired, leaning forward a little.

"The guy I came here trying to find," he answered, "I really can't talk about cases, ya know?"

She pressed her lips together firmly and nodded sharply. "Yeah, that sounds familiar."

"Don't do that," Shawn shook his head, feeling defeated, "Don't imply that I'm anything like my father."

"Shawn, I'm not." Mel said soothingly, and Shawn couldn't even tell if she was being sarcastic or placating him or trying to comfort him or telling him the truth. "I just…I got used to all that secrecy. A long time ago. Don't worry about it."

Shawn nodded, not really sure what to feel. Something about his mother was just…innately ambiguous. Shawn wondered sometimes if she did it on purpose, or if she just didn't know who she was.

"God, don't you just love this city?" She began excitedly after a few minutes of not so peaceful silence.

Shawn nodded, "It's a nice place," he agreed. "Rains a little too much."

"Oh, it just drizzles," she waved that off, "Man, I remember living here when I was a teenager. I was on top of the world, Shawn. You know what that feels like. You traveled, too."

Shawn had traveled, run away, and ended up on antidepressants. His mother had traveled, and ended up an alcoholic addicted to prescription pain meds. Traveling around the world wasn't all it was cracked up to be, at least not always. And even though Shawn wouldn't take back a single scrap of his life experiences from eighteen on, "I wouldn't exactly call it on top of the world."

"I would," she breathed, stretching her arms out in front of her and then bringing them in and looking at her son, a sudden serious expression on her face. "You know what city I love even more than this one?"

"Which one, mom?" Shawn played along; smiling all the while because, yeah, he'd missed his mom.

"Houston." She was grinning widely and it was infectious – her smile always had been – and Shawn was smiling, too. Albeit a bit confusedly.

"As in Texas?" He clarified and she nodded happily. "You and Jamie grew up there, right?"

She nodded again, "Yeah. I mean, it's hotter than hell, but I love it. Every bit of it. The heat lightening, the farms and ranches, riding horses…you remember it, don't you?"

Shawn's smile faltered, "Yeah, I remember it."

"Wanna know a secret?"

He just raised his eyebrows and waited.

"I'm going back."

It took Shawn a few solid seconds to grasp that and when he did, he honestly had no response. "You're…moving back to Texas?"

"Yup," she bit her lip and seemed completely unaware of her son's attitude change. "My flight's tomorrow. I haven't told Jamie yet, but I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"Uh…"

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to come with me."

"I…huh?" Him mom wanted him to move to Texas with him and he…he almost felt like crying. This was all he'd ever wanted as a child – for his mother to swoop in and take him far away from his father – he wanted…what he couldn't have.

Only now he could have it. Now that his life was secure and he had a solid job and he and his dad were – recent fight not withstanding – getting along better than they ever have before. _Now _she was offering him his fantasy.

He was speechless.

When he was a kid, he'd wanted nothing more than his mother's attention. Because being in Mel's spotlight meant the whole rest of the world got put on hold. There was no school, no responsibilities and no Henry telling him to grow up. Shawn was free to be as wild and as careless as he liked.

And, no, maybe that wasn't the best atmosphere to raise a child in – with no limits or rules at all - and Shawn admitting that, even in his mind, just went to show how much he'd matured over the past decade. But Henry's tirade of pre-police academy training wasn't exactly textbook Bill Cosby childrearing either. Sometimes Shawn wondered if his father really had been the lesser of two evils.

Especially in moments like this, when his mom was standing before him, sober and animated, offering him a world of excitement, of fun and adventure; a world that Shawn himself was more than a little familiar with.

"Mom, I can't just take off with you back to Texas," he chuckled in a nervous kind of way, "My friend's in jail for something he didn't do. Plus, ya know, I have a whole life back in Santa Barbara."

"So?" Mel shrugged carelessly, "Take a risk, dive out of the ordinary. C'mon, Shawn, when's the last time you had a good adventure?"

"_Shh," She'd whispered that night when he was a mere ten years old, "We're going on an adventure, but we can't tell your father, okay?"_

"_Where are we going?" Shawn had whispered excitedly, already hurriedly shoving his duffel bag full of clothes. _

"_It's a surprise." She whispered back and giggled. It was at her giggle that little Shawn had felt the beginning twinge of fear in his gut. He knew what that giggle usually meant, and he knew that it was never good. _

"_Are we driving somewhere?" He asked, still excited but a tad more reserved than just moments before._

"_Of course," his mother had spun around in a circle and accidently knocked into his dresser – just a little. "Oops." She giggled again, "Shh. We have to be quiet. And hurry." _

_Two weeks later Shawn was a missing child, and Mel was wanted for kidnapping. _

_**Presently…**_

"I remember that," Gus said, almost sadly, "You called me from a payphone in Houston and I got so scared that I called your dad."

"I'd never seen him so angry," Shawn didn't want to, but he sighed all the same, "She bailed when I was seven, but she'd turn up for weeks at a time, for years. And my dad always let her. I don't know why."

"Maybe he still loved her." Gus suggested, in as light of a tone as he could manage.

"Maybe," Shawn agreed, though he had another theory. "But after that it was, what? Six years before I saw her again?"

"After that rehab place in San Francisco," Gus recalled, "Remember we skipped school that one day and took the bus out to see her?"

"My dad never did find out about that," Shawn chuckled, "But, hell, dude, they were still married back then."

"Did you ever find out why it took them so long to-"

"It was a legal thing." Shawn interrupted.

"Right." He pictured Gus nodding, hesitating, and biting his lip a little, just on the inside where it was next to impossible to notice before, "Hey, Shawn, you didn't…"

"No, Gus, I didn't go to Texas." He answered the unasked question and heard Gus sigh in relief – for the record, those didn't count, either. "Thank God."

"I said no and my mom took off the next day to catch her flight." Shawn rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Dude, are we almost done with this story yet?"

"You're the narrator, Shawn," Gus reminded, "My question is, how does this kinda drama always just seem to find you?"

"Now, it's funny you should ask that, because I do have a theory," Shawn began, rubbing the stubble on his chin and choosing his words carefully. He really had thought about this. "I think, that I have a kind of built in transmitter, that attracts drama – you know, the way those really high-pitched whistles attract dogs."

"Sure," Gus had this tone, this _I'm-gonna-let-you-keep-talking-even-though-you're-insane-and-we-both-know-it_ tone that Shawn was pretty sure only he ever got to hear. It was also very similar to his _I'm-placating-you-until-you-say-everything-you-have-to-say-because-I-know-you-won't-shut-up-until-you-get-it-all-out_ tone, which was slightly less rare, as he was pretty sure Lassiter, Henry and several of their clients over the last year and a half had heard it, too.

That _"Sure," _had been an interesting combination of those two famous Guster Tones making the word itself almost irrelevant.

"Right," Shawn went on, because that's what the tones told him to do, "And you, you're a natural block to that transmitter. So when I'm around you, drama circles, but it can't always get past the Burton Block. With you out of town, all those defenses were gone and my life went from being a comedy with sprinklings of serious moments to being a…a…dramady."

"So…what you're saying…is that this is all _my_ fault?" Gus asked, he sounded like he'd just stepped into munchkin land and one of Snow White's little people had informed him that he was far too short to attend this party. "Finding two gun wielding psychos at a bar, almost getting killed, Lassiter finding out about your happy pills, Mitch showing up, fighting with your dad, Mitch getting falsely arrested, your mom just happening to be at your Aunt's house in Seattle, her asking you to move to Texas, the Seattle police not believing you about the Crandall being wanted in Santa Barbara and the dude maybe wanting you dead…all of that…all this drama that no normal human being could experience in the span of two decades but that you plow through in six and a half days, _all _of that, is _my fault?"_

Shawn clucked thoughtfully, "Well, only on a cosmic level, really. But, yeah, more or less."

"I hate you."

"Love you, too, buddy."

_**Three Days Ago…**_

"No."

Mel's smile froze on her face as she stared at her son with an odd mix of confusion and disbelief marring her features. "What?"

"I'm not moving to Texas with you," Shawn shrugged lightly and rested a hand on Sadie's head. "I can't."

They stared at each other for a long, long moment. This was the first time in his life that Shawn had said _no _to his mom.

It was an everyday occurrence with his father. The first word Shawn had ever said to him, in fact. _No. _

_No, I don't wanna eat the peas._

_No, I don't wanna ride in the child seat anymore. _

_No, I'm not going without Gus. _

_No, I didn't steal that. _

_No, I don't wanna be a cop. _

And on and on until they'd both grown rather accustomed to it; so much so that every time they _did_ agree on something they'd double and triple check until they _found _something that Shawn could object to.

But his mom had never gotten that. For as long as he could remember, Shawn sided with Mel. Whether she was dancing in circles around their living room or passed out cold in their bathroom. It was Shawn and his mom verses Henry.

So she was rightly a bit confused at this shift in their relationship. "C'mon, Shawn, you loved Texas." She pleaded, still not really understanding this turn of events.

"When I was ten and you kidnapped me." Shawn laughed, granted with little humor.

She _psshed _at him, waving a hand, "You know your father trumped up those charges because of the custody thing."

"I'm just saying," Shawn looked away, pushing the last of his soggy cereal around with his spoon.

"Shawn," Mel was looking at him so adoringly, like he was the center of the world, "Come to Texas with me. I know you want to."

Shawn's smile was sad. "Yeah, mom, I would love to move to Texas with you. To pack up my whole life and just start over. It's what I did for years. I'm a pro. An expert. It's in my blood, that whole running away thing."

"It's not a bad thing, Shawnie," she reached forward and clasped one of his hands in both of hers. "I promise."

"I know, mom," he placed his other hand over hers, completing the tower, "But it's not what I want."

His mom just stared, waiting for more of an answer.

Shawn only had one to give, and he would never know if it was enough for her; he would never know if anything was enough for her. He'd spent years trying to figure out his mom – the way she thought, why she did the things she did – because he always assumed that in solving those mysteries, he'd uncover who he really was along the way.

Perhaps he'd always known, on some level, that that was a lie. But today, in his Aunt's kitchen in Seattle, this was the first time he'd ever truly admitted it to himself.

"I want to go home."

**TBC…**


	20. Is That A Rulebook Violation I Detect?

Chapter Twenty: Is That A Rulebook Violation I Detect? 

_**I Give You…Real Life (In Real Time)…**_

"I would sucker punch you if your face wasn't still bruised." Those kind, caring words – accompanied with a manly half-hug – was how Gus greeted his best friend at the airport three hours and twenty minutes after their phone call had finally, _finally_ ended.

"Hey, man," Shawn slung his backpack over his shoulder as they walked side by side through the airport and towards the parking garage. "So, I'm thinking we can split the bill for the phone call," he began, "I have no idea how much it'll cost, but Aunt Jamie won't get the bill until the end the month, anyway."

"No way am I paying for any part of that, Shawn," Gus said firmly. "That's all your fault, dude."

"Hey, I could have saved that whole story for the car ride back to Psych," Shawn pointed out, "You're the one who wanted the whole dish."

"Okay, first of all," Gus began, very professional-like, "Five hours, Shawn. That's how long we were on the phone. Five hours, eighteen minutes and thirty six seconds."

"That's creepy," Shawn muttered.

"It's timed on the phone," Gus rolled his eyes; "The ride back into town is fifteen minutes, tops."

"That's valid," Shawn allowed, "What's number two?"

"Number two," Gus went on, sounding a little irritated that Shawn had led him into it, "We are _not_ going back to the office."

"My apartment?" His voice was hopeful, but even as he suggested it he knew Gus had other plans.

"Are you kidding me?" Gus glanced over at him in disbelief. "It's six o'clock. You've been gone for almost four full days. When I called the Chief, she was about ready to send out a search party."

"You called the Chief?" Shawn asked, cringing already in the face of what he knew was coming.

"Of course I called the Chief," Gus exclaimed, "Not that I really needed to. Believe it or not, Shawn, the police in Seattle couldn't actually close Crandall's case by talking to just Buzz. They had to verify the events, the crime and have a positive ID by the detective technically in charge of case. And since Lassiter was directly involved in the hold up at the bar, it _wasn't _his case."

Shawn opened his mouth to say something, but Gus - who'd been listening to his best friend talk for the better part of the day - felt like doing so explaining of his own.

"Which you would have known if you'd talked to Lassiter for more than ten minutes the day you left for Seattle," he went on. "As it was, the Seattle cops called the Chief the same day you had Buzz call them. _That's _why it took two and a half days for Mitch to get released. They had to get copies of the files to each other and verify Crandall's identity. Because he used the same gun to frame Mitch that he used in the bar to almost kill you. Plus there was a legal glitch about whether or not Crandall would even stay in Seattle."

"I thought-"

"I know what you thought, Shawn," Gus interrupted, "But you're not exactly a lawyer, are you?"

"A seventh grade accelerated pre-law class doesn't make you one, either." Shawn pointed out with a smile.

"No, but I did talk to the Chief, who did consult a lawyer," Gus said haughtily. "Mitch was right about the extraditing thing, but they _can _charge Crandall with robbery and assault, _and _escaping police custody. Since he was already under arrest here when he fled the state, the charges still hold. He just can't be prosecuted here. There was a pre-trial hearing yesterday; it might end up going to court."

"Are you seriously telling me that after all this I might end up going _back _to Seattle for a trial?" Shawn asked, cringing. He'd had enough of airports in the past four days to last him at least the next several years.

"Actually, it's much more likely that he'll make a deal and give up the name of the guys that were really behind that robbery that night."

"Fred and George were guns for hire?" Shawn asked skeptically.

"Robbers for hire," Gus shrugged, "Not even for hire. They were doing a buddy a favor. They turn in his name, then they have someone else to prosecute and you're no longer involved."

"Let's hope he's a snitch," Shawn said gleefully. He had a feeling Crandall was a snitch.

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

Not long after that, they'd made it to Gus's car, and after ten minutes of Gus trying unsuccessfully to maneuver them out of the airport parking lot, they were cruising down the highway.

"So, where are we going?" Shawn asked, yawning moments later. After that first night on his Aunt's bed, he'd been bumped down to the couch, which was less than comfortable. How his mom had survived it for several weeks was beyond him.

"To the station."

"I thought that was all sorted out."

"Legally?" Gus began, "All you have to do is sign a few papers."

"And not legally?" Shawn knew what was coming.

"Not legally? You need to talk to Lassiter."

"Dude, it's not really-"

"If you say it's not my business, Shawn, I swear to God I will bitch slap you." Gus snapped.

"Meow," Shawn laughed out right, "Where did that come from?"

"That came from the dozen phone calls that I've gotten from Lassiter – plus the eight I got from Juliet and the four I got from Buzz – the second they found out that I was back in town and talking to the Chief," Shawn smiled at Gus's anger. It wasn't really funny, exactly, but there was a certain dry humor in Gus receiving the blunt of all their anger and concern.

"None from my dad, then?" He tried hard not to let Gus see him grinning.

"No, but he wasn't at the police station." There was a slight pause before, "And he has called, Shawn. Besides Lassiter, he left the most messages on the machine at Psych. And you know he hates machines."

"Have you actually talked to any of them yet?"

"Oh hell no," Gus laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "This is your mess, dude. All I'm doing is dropping you off at the station. Per Vick's orders."

"Dude, that's it?" Shawn asked, suddenly just a little nervous. "You're not gonna come in with me?"

Gus glanced sideways at his friend for a long moment – or, well, for as long as Gus would ever take his eyes off the road while driving – and sighed in defeat. "I'll walk in with you," he caved, "But I'm not staying. I'll come pick you up if you need me to."

"Thanks, man," Shawn breathed. Then he started thinking that, if this had been even a slightly different situation, Gus wouldn't be acting this understanding. Codling, even. He was codling Shawn. "Dude," he said suspiciously, "Are you only being nice to me because my mom was there?"

"No." Gus shook his head and shrugged casually.

"Liar." Shawn accused lightly.

"Maybe," Gus conceded, "But only 'cause I'm proud of you."

"For what?" Shawn snorted and spoke sarcastically, "Handling that situation with ease and adult-like grace?"

"Yes." Gus answered seriously and Shawn did a double take.

"Huh?"

"You spent years running across the country because you couldn't figure out what else to do," and although his tone was light, his words had never been truer. "You were presented with a real opportunity to go back to that life. And with your mom. Shawn, I know how much you wanted that. But you didn't go."

"You sound surprised." He wasn't angry –surprised was a legitimate way to feel.

"I am, a little," Gus admitted.

"You thought I would want to just up and bail again?" Shawn asked, "I've got a lot going on here."

"I know." Gus sighed when Shawn looked at him expectantly, knowing that wasn't the end of his thought process by a long shot. "Okay, fine. But what I'm about to say goes against codes two-thirty-three, two-forty-one and three-ninety-eight in the 'Gus and Shawn friendship rulebook." He warned seriously.

Shawn nodded, "So you're about to reveal something emotional and slash or personal, talk about my mom in detail and…bring a raccoon to my apartment? Dude, you know I have a pathological fear of raccoons."

"Rule three-ninety-seven," he corrected himself.

"Admit fear and slash or worry," Shawn nodded, sounding relieved. "Got it."

"You don't actually have to say _slash. _You could just stick with and or. Much easier."

"Get on with the Hallmark moment and I'll promise not to mock you." Shawn waved a hand impatiently.

"Okay," Gus took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel just a bit tighter. "The thing is, Shawn…"

"Dude, just spit it out." He coached when his friend didn't go on.

"I knew you weren't just gonna up and leave again after we started _Psych," _Gus began, trying his best to sound manly and detached. "I knew that you hopping on your motorcycle and taking off in the middle of the night was a thing past. But I always…"

"Thought that I might get bored and revert to my old ways?" Shawn guessed, voice quiet and maybe just a little sad.

"Not really," Gus shrugged, "Especially not since I knew you were still on the Prozac. But then we found out your dad had moved back and I know he's a trigger for you, so I got kinda scared that that might make you take off again."

"I'm more stubborn than that," Shawn pointed out.

"I know," Gus chuckled dryly, "You guys fought and argued and…everything you used to do while we were in high school, just less intense. And you weren't running. I kinda figured that if Henry couldn't chase you away then nothing could."

"So, what's the problem?" Shawn shrugged.

"I always just assumed that if your mom came back that you'd follow her." Gus got out in one breath, eyes focused only on the road in front of him. Shawn had nothing to say to that. "I mean, I know how much you wanted to know her when we were kids."

"Gus…" this was why this was in the rulebook. He didn't like talking about his mom. He just…it was like poking an open wound with a fucking rod iron.

"I know," he said quickly. He knew how much this hurt Shawn, but he also knew that this needed to be said. "But the point is, if there was one thing that I thought could ever take you away from your life here, it was her. But you had the opportunity and you didn't." Gus let out one final breath. "So, yeah. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," Shawn said softly, smiling at his best friend of so long. Maybe if he was a little bit stronger, Shawn would have said something else there. But it was his mom. And he just couldn't talk about his mom for extended periods of time. It was in the friggin' rulebook, for crap's sake.

So, in the interest of keeping the rest of their car ride awkwardness free, he asked pointedly, "Does that cancel out the whole, me leaving town without telling anybody thing?"

"What do you think, Shawn?" Gus responded. His normal, slightly irritated, above all else professional voice was firmly back in place and Shawn knew for a fact that everything between him and his best friend was going to be just fine.

"That I'm cleaning up the rotten pineapple in the office?" Gus raised his eyebrows. "And replacing the carpet?"

"You know that's right."

**TBC…**

A/N: The end is so near. I can see it. I can taste it. Huh. It tastes like pineapple. That's odd. Uh, yeah, okay. So there's Shassie to come, some father son bonding and hopefully an ending that everyone will enjoy. Heh. PS – all the legal stuff – in this chapter and all the others – comes solely from what I've learned on Law and Order SVU and the depths of my own imagination. Just roll with it. Review and share the love. Peace.


	21. Home Sweet Home

Chapter Twenty-One: Home Sweet Home

Shawn and Gus had made it Chief Vick's office without being detected by a single human being in the precinct who had wanted to see or talk to Shawn for the past four days. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief over that, and another one when he glanced into the chief's office and saw that she was the only one present in the room.

"This is as far as I go," Gus informed him as they stood outside her office.

It was nearing seven in the evening and perhaps everyone else had already gone home for the night. It hadn't occurred to Shawn, but Vick was the only one who knew that the younger Spencer would be making an appearance tonight. "Good luck."

"What if she fires me?" Shawn asked, "We'd both be out of a job. Don't you wanna stick around and defend yourself?"

"I have another job." Was his friend's simple answer.

"What if she calls my dad?" Was Shawn's next fear, "You're the buffer, dude."

"She's not gonna call your dad," Gus rolled his eyes. "She's your boss, not you principal."

"Well, what if-"

"Just go." Gus interrupted. "I'm going home. Call me if you want a ride later."

And then Gus was gone, and Shawn was left to deal with the aftermath of his decisions. For probably the first time in his adult life.

He remembered right then, as Gus was walking away and the chief was eying him from behind her desk expectantly, why he hated being an adult so much

o0oo0o

"Mr. Spencer," she greeted, her tone oddly calm. "Welcome back."

Shawn smiled a little unsurely, shut the door behind him and took a seat in the chair across from her. He didn't care what Gus had said, she sure as hell seemed like a principal, and Shawn defiantly felt like a little kid who'd just gotten busted.

"First off," she began, "I want to say that I'm very happy to see you alive and well."

"Look, I'm sorry about-"

"I'm talking now, okay?" She cut off. He tone was friendly, but just a little too friendly. Like a pixie stick that was about to cause a massive amount of energy in one short burst. Shawn shut up and nodded.

"Secondly," and here came the anger, "I'd really like to know what in the hell you were thinking."

Shawn cringed, but knew better than to say anything.

"It's one thing to take off for a vacation, a family emergency, even on a whim. I can't control what you do outside of this police station," she braced her arms on her desk but still didn't stand. Shawn really wished she would stand up. "But to take off without telling _anyone, _with a known _criminal, _to search for the guy who almost _killed you, _on a case that I said very specifically you were to be _no part of. _Well, that I'm just having a little trouble wrapping my head around."

"I know-"

"No, you don't know, Mr. Spencer." Vick interrupted again. And then she did stand up. Funny, it really didn't make Shawn feel any better. "Three of my best detectives have been distracted for the past four days," as she ranted, she circled around her desk and began pacing her office. "I've been getting continual phone calls from your father, a man I happen to think very highly of and I've been forced to tell him that, no, I don't know where his son is at the moment."

Shawn bit his lip. He really hated taking responsibility.

"And then," she laughed dryly, "And then I receive a phone call from a precinct in _Washington_, informing me that the man I'd arrested two days ago was now in their custody, and how cold I have not known that? Since two of my employees were directly responsible for getting him there?"

"Did Buzz-"

"Officer McNabb admitted to the conversation with you only _after _I questioned him directly about it," Vick answered his partial question. "He's in no official trouble for what he did but I will be watching him very closely from now on. And you, Mr. Spencer…this whole ordeal changes my view of you."

Shawn cringed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure that you are," she sighed, seeming to deflate just a little. "You'll be taking no department cases for the next two weeks."

"That's fair." Shawn decided.

"And I'll be requesting that you and your partner attend no less than four consecutive sessions with the police psychiatrist before we invest in your help again."

That one, Shawn wasn't so sure about.

"Don't give me that look," Vick warned him, "Not only is it standard procedure after an incident like the one at the bar last week, it's also a gift, seeing as how I'd be totally within my rights to fire you for this little stunt."

Shawn shut his mouth. He'd been seeing a psychiatrist once every two months for the past ten years; its how he'd gotten the Prozac after Gus had graduated from college. But the chief really didn't need to know that, he supposed.

"I understand." He nodded.

"Good," she took a deep breath. "Another stunt like this Mr. Spencer and I won't be able to cut you any slack. This is my department and I won't have its integrity compromised because you have issues or feel the need to play hero. I don't care how many cases you've solved."

Shawn smiled a bit at that. "Okay," he nodded.

"Okay." She agreed before sitting down again behind her desk and studying the pseudo-psychic carefully. "I highly recommend that you speak to your father within the next day."

Shawn cringed, "Do I have to?"

"No," Vick smiled, actually smiled at him. "But the next time he calls me, I will tell him that you're back"

"Fair enough." Shawn nodded, knowing that he wouldn't be able to put off that confrontation for long.

"Also, Detective O'Hara has a few words for you as well," and now she was smiling outright vindictively, "I've never seen her quite so angry. She's got quite the little speech planned for you."

"Can't wait to hear it," Shawn rolled his eyes.

"And I suppose saying anything about Detective Lassiter would be a violation of personal privacy," her eyes met his and both knew that this could not be avoided.

"I'm going to talk to him," Shawn informed her, "Tonight." He decided it as he said it and watched as her face softened considerably. "I'll go over to his place tonight."

"I'll give you a ride," she offered, "Seeing as how Mr. Guster fled the premises as quickly as possible after bringing you here."

"He hasn't slept for a while," Shawn smirked, "I think it's making him a little cranky."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it." There was sarcasm in her voice and she rolled her eyes. Shawn always had liked her.

"So, I hear there's some paperwork I need to fill out?"

o0oo0o

It was nearing eight when the chief pulled to a stop in front of Lassiter's apartment building. Shawn didn't get out of the car right away and they both sat in silence for several long moments.

"Professionally, I can't get involved in this," she told him, speaking first and breaking the silence. "If you were a cop, the situation would be different."

"I'm not a cop," Shawn mumbled, feeling truly nervous, even scared, for the first time since he'd come home.

"No, you're not," she said almost fondly, with a touch of relief in her tone, "Which is why I can't get involved. But, as a friend, I'd like to tell you to be careful."

"Careful?" Shawn echoed, still staring out the passenger side window.

"Just…trust me."

And Shawn did trust her, and he had a pretty good guess about what she was referring to with her warning, as well.

"Thanks, chief," He turned to smile at her right before he got out of the car.

"You're welcome, Mr. Spencer."

o0oo0o

He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans when he opened the door. He looked ragged, tired and a little sad. Then he realized who was standing at his front door and his face shifted to one of those unreadable masks that he was so good at.

Shawn didn't say anything and Lassiter didn't stop him when he made his way into the spacious apartment, just shut the door behind him and studied him thoughtfully.

"I didn't hang up on you." Were his first words. "I pressed the button on accident and then my phone died two minutes later."

Lassiter nodded.

"I got scared."

His mask faltered and confusion set on his face. "Why?"

"You weren't supposed to find out about the pills," Shawn spoke truthfully, not knowing what he was going to say before he said it and feeling vulnerable. "This wasn't about the case; it wasn't about Crandall or Mitch. I took off because I was scared and Gus wasn't here and that's what I do when I get scared and Gus isn't around. I take off."

He nodded, but still seemed very confused. There was maybe three feet of hardwood floor between them, neither made a move to change that.

"I went to Seattle, trying to find Crandall. Only I didn't really care if I found Crandall at all because all I was doing was running away. And my mom was there. My Aunt lives in Seattle and my mom was staying with her." Shawn blurted, still not understanding his own motives, but not taking his eyes off the man he loved. "I was telling Gus this whole story and I kept going over all of it in my head and I thought, at first, that maybe I don't need those pills anymore. I know I did when I was younger but maybe I don't anymore."

"Shawn-"

The older man took a single step, but stopped short of going farther when Shawn started speaking again. "But then my mom was there and she wanted me to move to Texas with her. And, when I was a kid, that was all I wanted. For her to come back and just…but I said no. I said no because I have a life here, and I love you and I…I love you."

Then there was no more space between them. Shawn didn't know how he'd managed it, but in as much time as it took him to get the words out, Carlton was in front of him and holding onto him tightly and yeah, maybe Shawn was tearing up just a bit, but he felt safe in those strong arms. And maybe that was enough.

"And it _hurt._" He choked. "It _hurt _to have to make that decision. Even if I know I made the right one. And I _need _those pills. Because I can't be depressed again. I _can't _go back there, Carly. I _can't._"

"Shh," he whispered quietly in Shawn's ear. "I understand. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

They were still clinging, still needing, and if Carlton never let go, then maybe, just maybe, Shawn would be okay with that.

"I didn't freak out because I thought any less of you," the taller man spoke softly, but Shawn heard every word. "I didn't leave that morning because you'd lied to me or because I don't trust people who take antidepressants. You were right. I do know a lot of cops who take them, and it's never really mattered to me."

"Then why?" Shawn sniffled, moving his hands down until they were under Carlton's shirt and then moving them back up again and resting them on his bare back. The skin on skin contact helped more than he thought it should have. It'd been too long since they'd touched. "Why?"

"Because you're always so damn _happy," _Carlton chuckled sadly, "Those pills threw me off. It's was like…I'd been believing one thing without question, and then you changed it. I got scared."

Shawn nodded, even if he didn't really understand.

"I didn't know you when you were a teenager," Carlton went on, trying to explain it. "I've never seen you anything less than annoyingly perky."

"Chipper." Shawn corrected with a small smile.

"Chipper," the older man agreed. "I got scared when I thought about you being depressed. But then I kept thinking about it. After we fought, after you spent days ignoring me and _a lot _after you left town and I thought…well, I though I might never see you again."

"Sorry," Shawn mumbled, closing his eyes and resting his head on Carlton's shoulder.

"It's not really your fault." He said easily, "I just…it made me think. And…I don't wanna lose you, Shawn. I meant what I said. I…I love you. I want to be with you. For real."

Shawn grinned despite his emotional upheaval. "Scary, isn't it?"

A hand reached down and gently lifted his chin. Soon, Shawn was staring into the eyes of the only person in the world he'd ever opened his heart to. Then they were kissing lightly, and then they were kissing intently.

They both had day's worth of stubble and Shawn hadn't bathed in over twenty-four hours and he surely smelled like airport, but none of that seemed to matter in the least. Because when they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, they were smiling despite themselves.

"No," Carlton whispered, "It's not that scary."

And Shawn considered it. He'd let himself fall, in more ways than one; but he'd been caught, too.

So, no, maybe it wasn't all that scary.

**TBC…**


	22. Slowing Down and Staying Forever

Chapter Twenty-Two: Slowing Down and Staying Forever

By late the next morning, Carlton was completely caught up on Shawn's four day adventure in Seattle. They were still in bed together, a sheet and part of a blanket covering up everything they weren't wearing.

"Don't you have to go to work or something?" Shawn asked lightly, tracing random patterns over his lover's chest.

"Not 'til noon," he stretched languidly, wrapping an arm around Shawn possessively, "I took the morning off."

Shawn just hummed contently. They'd agreed to take it one step at a time. They were officially together, in an exclusive, seeing no other people, kind of way, and Shawn was perfectly happy just leaving it there for now and letting it progress on its own.

As he'd explained to Carlton last night;

"_Too much has changed in the past week. Let's just go slow, okay?" _

_Carlton had ran his hands through his hair and gently guided him towards the bedroom, biting his neck lightly, in that way that drove Shawn crazy. "Yeah, we can do slow." Then he'd paused and stopped their movements, "You do mean slow… emotionally, right?" _

_Shawn had grinned at the utter fear and disappointment on his face and answered his question by grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him roughly. "Emotionally, yes." He's sucked the lobe of his ear into his mouth and bit it lightly. Carlton shivered. "Sexually? I'm thinking…" he'd wrapped his arms around his waist and pushed towards the bedroom, "Faster than a speeding bullet." _

_Carlton had paused and looked down. "Bad metaphor." _

_Shawn just laughed and said, "I'll make it up to you." _

_And that had been that. _

"You know," he was saying now, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling as Shawn lay on his side, under his arm. "If you ever wanna talk about, you know, your past or anything…"

Shawn smiled a little, "You wanna hear about it?"

Carlton just nodded, "I think talking is a big part of this whole real relationship thing."

"Huh," Shawn considered it, "I really wouldn't know."

"Is that a yes?" He pushed.

"We can talk," Shawn agreed, "About both our pasts. Just not now, okay?"

"Sure," Carlton said softly, bending his neck and placing a light kiss on Shawn's forehead. "Not now."

Silence passed between them, but, for maybe the first time in his life, Shawn didn't mind it. For the first time, he didn't fell trapped alone in it. He was there with Carlton and that was different. That was damn near perfect.

o0oo0o

"Do you need a ride anywhere?" Carlton asked a little later, as he was getting ready for work and Shawn was sitting on the bed, running a towel through his freshly washed hair. "Your dad's?"

"You really gonna push that?" Shawn inquired lightly.

"Not if you don't want me to," the Irishman shrugged, "I just think you should talk to him."

Shawn nodded. "So does the chief and so does Gus."

"And you?" He honestly cared about Shawn's stand in all this. Not that Gus didn't. But Carlton was willing to stand strong on the side of whatever Shawn wanted to do, without pushing. Gus would stand on his side because he was his best friend, but he would push for whatever he believed was right.

Shawn needed both of them, but right now; he appreciated Carlton's position much more.

"I think it's somewhat inevitable since I know that Gus already talked to him," he rolled his eyes, "But yeah, I would like a ride back to my apartment. If I'm going to go see my dad, I think I at least earn the right to change my clothes and get to his house on my motorcycle."

"Because he hates it?" Carlton turned towards him and smirked, knowing the answer even before Shawn nodded and said very seriously,

"Damn straight."

o0oo0o

His dad's truck wasn't in the driveway when he pulled up on his motorcycle two hours later. Still, Shawn turned off the engine, took off his helmet and walked up the front porch.

Several knocks on the door and shouts through the open window later, he was using his key – the one he'd copied without his father's knowledge years ago – to let himself in.

He knew his dad really wasn't there after five minutes of walking around his childhood home. But since he had nothing better to do, he decided to poke around a little.

Half an hour later he was back on his motorcycle and driving off down the street. A concentrated frown on his face, going over in his mind what he'd unintentionally found in his dad's house whilst snooping.

o0oo0o

"Dad," he was leaving a message on the machine, despite his own self-preservation instincts screaming at him to just lay low until his dad tracked him down. "It's me. I know you already know I'm home, because I know Gus called you. That's why you always liked Gus, right? He's snitch. Well, not really a snitch. He just believes in sharing information. Anyway, I went by the house and you weren't there. I, uh…I don't know, dad. Call me if you wanna talk. If not…I guess I'll see you when I see you."

And he hung up.

Okay, so maybe it was less than poetic, but it was probably a hell of a lot more than his father deserved. So he'd just have to deal with it.

o0oo0o

It was weird, Shawn decided, being back in the city. He had nothing to do.

He couldn't work any police cases for two whole weeks and he and Gus didn't have any of their own. Gus was working. Carlton was working. His dad was…not really an option.

So Shawn was just…sitting in the Psych office. Reorganizing their files in his new color-coordinated system. Oh, he was also waiting for the carpet guys to come by and fix Mitch's ashtray patch. Well, replace that whole section of carpet, really.

He hated waiting. He hated having nothing to do. Because when he had nothing to do, he ended up thinking. And, right now, he really didn't feel like thinking.

So he kept reorganizing; he cleaned up the rotten pineapple as promised, he sorted through all the stuff in his desk and locker, he cleaned out the hard drive on his computer, he called his Aunt Jamie and told her that he had indeed gotten home alright, he called Gus and got his voicemail – which was fitting, he supposed.

Then, two and half hours later, the carpet guys had come and gone and Shawn Spencer had spent an entire day doing absolutely nothing.

He leaned back in his chair almost triumphantly. Today hadn't been such a bad day after all. At the very least, he'd relaxed a little.

o0oo0o

"He hasn't called back yet?" Carlton handed him a beer as Shawn went through the numerous take-out containers on the counter.

"Nope," the younger man shrugged, picking a shrimp out the chicken and rice he'd ordered and popping it into his mouth. "Didn't even get a voicemail. I'm not surprised, though."

"Yeah?" He inquired.

"Nah, he's more direct than that," Shawn explained, "He'll show up here within the next couple days and demand a 'talk' about everything that happened." He shook his head, "He may be the most stubborn son of a bitch in the world, but he doesn't like to let things fester."

Carlton just nodded, handing Shawn a plate and watching as the younger man went to town on the Chinese food. "Extra fortune cookies?"

"To your left," he mumbled and watched grinning as Shawn scooped up three and dumped them on his plate.

"Gotta get at least one good one out of that." He said almost to himself.

"Didn't you have a job writing those?" Carlton nodded down to the cookies.

Shawn laughed as he stepped back and let the older man have a go at the food, "For about three months, in China Town."

"New York?" Carlton asked, surprised.

"Yup," Shawn nodded. "This little family owned place. Well, almost everything down there was family owned, but these guys spoke English, which was rare. I charmed them with my wit and flare for alliteration. It paid alright plus, ya know, all the eggrolls I could eat."

They'd made their plates and headed now for the couch, where they sat crossed legged and facing each other. A few minutes of silent eating passed before the conversation started up again.

"If it was a good gig why'd it only last three months?" Carlton inquired through some fried rice.

"Eh," Shawn shrugged, "Good pay or not, it was still New York. I was paying out my ass for a hole in the wall apartment with bugs, crack dealing neighbors and paper thin walls. Sex, crying babies, screaming couples, demanding prostitutes…New York just wasn't my city."

"Sounds pretty terrible," Carlton agreed.

"I was only there three and a half months. It's fun to visit, but you really have to be a native or filthy rich to enjoy living there," Shawn's tone remained light and upbeat, all of this was in his past. "And I'm not a hundred percent on that first one."

And on went their evening. They ate and talked, stayed on the couch; eventually curling up to watch a movie together. Then they retired to the bedroom, had amazingly passionate sex, and went to sleep.

It wasn't an adventure, it wasn't life risking or dangerous, and it didn't end in guns being drawn or a fist fight of any kind. But to Shawn and Carlton, it couldn't have been more perfect,

For Carlton Lassiter, it was the first time since he'd been divorced that he knew without doubt that someone would be there with him when he woke up in the morning, and it was the first time since his first year of marriage that he was actually looking forward to waking up in the morning.

For Shawn Spencer, it was the first time in his life that he wasn't subconsciously, or consciously, planning an escape route. He didn't want out of this relationship. He wasn't excited about moving on; he was excited to see where this would go.

It was a first for both of them.

The first time they knew without doubt that this would last forever.

**TBC…**


	23. Just Fine

Chapter Twenty-Three: Just Fine

The next day dawned bright and…well, kinda early. For Shawn anyway.

He'd fallen into a pattern of waking up at seven when Carlton got up to go to work, showering and otherwise…entertaining…himself and the older man before he left for the station. He'd then go back to sleep until he deemed it time to wake up.

Today, that time was seven minutes to noon.

And according to his calculations, that meant he had about half an hour to get ready, leave and meet Carlton for lunch.

It would be his first time at the police station since he got back where Chief Vick wouldn't be the only one there. He knew he'd end up talking to both Buzz and Juliet. Well, more likely, he'd end up listening to Jules rant and answer a million of Buzz's questions.

Either way, he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Twenty minutes later he parked his bike in the visitor's lot and pulled off his helmet.

And there was his father. Standing next to his truck, less than fifty feet away.

He hadn't heard a word from his father all yesterday – unless he counted messages via Gus – and now here he was. Waiting for him. Stalking him.

He would have loved to walk away and completely ignore the older man, but he knew even before he swung his leg over his bike and placed his helmet atop it gently that that wasn't going to happen.

Carlton wanted him to see this through, Gus was pushing him to get it over with and Vick had insisted that maybe he'd be surprised by what his dad had to say.

An image of what he'd found in his dad's house yesterday flashed before his eyes and soon he was walking towards the older man, hands shoved in his pockets, face set and stony.

He stopped a good foot and half away and waited. He was willing to give his dad a shot but he wasn't about to make it easy for him.

"Shawn," Henry sighed and his son cringed at the utter defeat and dismay that was portrayed in that one sound. "We really need to talk."

"You really need to talk," Shawn countered, "I really need to go inside. Juliet has this whole _what_ _the hell were you thinking?_ speech planned out and I'd really hate to deprive her of that."

"I'm sorry I hit you." He blurted.

"So, we're talking then?"

"Listen to me, Shawn," Henry rubbed the back of his neck and started to take a step closer to his son before changing his mind and just shifting restlessly on the balls of his feet instead. "I didn't mean… a lot of what I said to you last week."

"The part about me being gay or the part about me being just like my mother?" Shawn snapped, wanting and hating his father's words at the same time.

"Are you trying to make this difficult for me?" Henry seemed agitated but the younger Spencer just couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

"Yes."

"That's fair, I guess." Shawn was more than a little taken aback by his father's words and in his moment of stunned silence Henry continued, "I loved your mother more than anything else in the world. At least until you were born."

"Even more than being a cop?" Shawn raised his eyebrows, kind of joking but genuinely wanting to hear the answer.

"I loved my job. But not half as much as I…" he trailed off, licking his lips, unable to complete the sentiment; but this time, that was okay, because Shawn didn't have to be a psychic to know what his father had meant. "I knew Mel had problems," he went on, "And they landed her in some bad places over the years."

"I remember." Shawn nodded. Rehab, crappy apartments that not even the filthiest of rock stars would go near, holding cells, clinics, jail…yes, Shawn remembered everything.

"I think your mother…she was amazing, kid. She had this heart of gold. She always wanted to take care of everyone. Especially you." Henry's gaze was far away.

Shawn had to remind himself every once in a while that he was not the only person who had lost Mel when she'd decided to leave; but now was not one of those moments. This was the first time while discussing the issue of his mother with his father that Shawn didn't feel like the victim. He saw Henry's pain and could acknowledge it clearly without anger.

"I remember that, too." He spoke softly, not wanting to startle the elder man.

"But she couldn't always do that, sometimes she was selfish, and I know I didn't help. Running to work when things got too…"

"It wasn't all your fault," And Shawn saw for the first time that perhaps it wasn't.

"It wasn't all hers, either," Henry went on, "But, Shawn…sometimes you scare me."

"I scare you?" Shawn repeated, part flabbergasted by that admission but mostly understanding it. "Why? Because you think I'll turn into her?"

Henry didn't answer, but _yes _was written so clearly on his face that he didn't need to hear the words. Shawn wanted to tell his father that he'd worried and feared the exact same thing when he was younger. Feared it still sometimes. He loved his mom with the unconditional love that came from being born of her, of watching her struggle and knowing in his heart that, despite her problems, she'd done the best that she could.

He loved his mother and he would never stop loving his mother. He also loved his father, for the same primal reasons and for being there even when Shawn hated him and didn't want him there. And yeah, they were polar opposites and they fought and they had their issues…but Henry had something that his mother, no matter how much he loved her, would never have.

His father had his respect.

"I'm not her, dad." Shawn said it calmly, factually, without even a sliver of doubt in his mind, heart or soul. And in that moment it couldn't have been truer.

"I know that." Henry sighed, but this time it was one of release, letting go of the past. It was long overdue, and both of them knew it. "And I am sorry. About that and about what I said about you and Lassiter."

"Seriously, dad, can we just not go there right now?"

"I can't stop you from doing…whatever it is you're doing, Shawn," Henry looked monumentally uncomfortable and maybe some vindictive part of Shawn was letting him talk because he just had to see how many shades of red his father's face would turn. "Just…be careful."

"Now that warning could encompass a whole crap load of things." Shawn pointed out, smirking lightly.

"Lassiter's a cop and you're…not," Was Henry's philosophical view of the situation. "It's really easy to get…burned; in a situation…I mean…you have thought about all this, right?"

"Yes, dad," Shawn spoke calmly, almost placating the older man, "I have."

"And this…thing…it isn't a fling or, or and experiment or something, right?" He went on, bright-Christmas-light-red and was no longer meeting the younger man's eyes.

"No, I don't think that it is." He answered honestly, because even standing out here with his father, knowing that Lassiter was fifty yards away inside the police station, he wanted to be closer to the Irishman. He wanted him, thought about him constantly and felt that annoying little drop in his stomach every time he was around.

"Then, I guess…it's your life, Shawn," Henry rubbed the back of his neck, "I can disagree with your job, your attitude, your apartment, that deathtrap you ride…but Lassiter…it's none of my business."

"That was big of you to admit," Shawn nodded, a rare serious moment passing between them, on both ends, "Thank you."

"And I really am sorry about the sucker-punch," Henry sighed but finally lifted his head as his face returned more or less to its natural color. "That was about your mother, and me. It had nothing to do with…"

"My lifestyle?" Shawn filled in; using the most non-threatening, docile words he could think of.

"Yeah." Henry licked his lips and shifted again on his feet. This once in a blue moon heart to heart seemed to be over at last.

Shawn nodded at his father's last comment understandingly before smirking suddenly, "You know this means you owe me, right?"

Henry rolled his eyes and groaned, but he was smiling, too. "I think this drama blurb constitutes what? A month of letting me borrow the truck?"

"You take it, you fill it up." Henry countered, "And no deal on Saturdays."

"Why? Is that when you play bridge?"

"I do not play _bridge_, Shawn," Henry loathed in disgust. "It's poker."

"Whatever you say, old man." He laughed and just like that the fight was over.

No, they hadn't resolved everything, and yes, it would take some work and a good chunk of time to get them back to the level of trust they'd been at before all of this had gone down and no, Henry still didn't know about the antidepressants and probably never would because no amount of bonding in the present can make up for the scars of the past.

Shawn had a feeling, though, that if he did tell his father about the Prozac, that Henry wouldn't react the same way he'd reacted when Shawn had been in high school and the idea had been merely a suggestion. Actually, it was more than a feeling.

Because yesterday when he'd been at his childhood home, snooping around because that's what he did when he was bored, he'd found it. He'd found a bottle of Zoloft shoved into the bottom drawer of his dad's bathroom. Underneath the blow drier that had been his mom's and the book entitled _Modern Dating for the Aging Man _that had been a gag Christmas present from Shawn two years ago.

And yeah, the prescription was over thirteen years old and it had never been used. No doubt it had been the reason that Henry had freaked out when Shawn's school had suggested meds, because the dates matched almost perfectly and Shawn Spencer was no idiot. Henry had been embarrassed and feeling weak and didn't want his son subject to those same feelings.

It didn't make it okay and it didn't mean that Shawn would ever tell his secret, but it did help him see something just a tad more clearly. For the first time in a long time, Shawn saw his father for what he really was. Human.

So as they walked to the police station together, Shawn let his dad sling his arm around his shoulders and casually mess his hair. He didn't flinch and he didn't pull away and when Henry asked, "So, we're okay then?" And his voice was light and scared and hoping and needing all at the same time, with pieces of the past and fragments of the future thrown in for good measure, Shawn was as sincere as it was possible for him to be when he answered.

"Yeah, dad. We're gonna be fine."

**TBC…**

A/N: One more chapter to go. Reviews prompt fast posting :D


	24. And They All Lived Happily Ever After

_A/N: It's short, it's sweet, it's kinda funny and to the point. Most notably, it's the end. I just wanna take a moment and thank everyone who's stuck with this story. It didn't turn out exactly like I'd wanted it to and I know it took a LONG time, but if there is one thing I'm happy with, it's the last line (Don't skip down and read, please) but that line, that LAST line, well, the last TWO lines; I've had that planned since like, chapter 2. Which is so not important and I think I'm delirious. But anyway; go ahead and read the end. And let me know what you thought, huh? _

Chapter Twenty-Four: And They All Lived Happily Ever After. (Well, Shawn Had To Meet With the Lawyers and Gus got Wasted. But Other Than That….)

_**A Few Weeks Later…**_

The new deal went something like this;

**Terms and Conditions of Shawn Henry Spencer's Continuing Employment for the Santa Barbara Police Department (Amongst Other Things)**

**Item One:**

Shawn Henry Spencer is not allowed to leave the state without informing at least one of the following parties: Burton Guster. Carlton Lassiter. Henry Spencer. Juliet O'Hara. Karen Vick. Buzz McNabb. (Stipulation: Mr. McNabb only qualifies as a valid candidate if he, in turn, informs one of the aforementioned parties. If he fails to do this the blame will fall primarily on Mr. McNabb, but also on Mr. Spencer, for whatever he did to make Buzz not tell)

Exceptions can be made in the case of an extreme emergency. I.e.: Jamie Tabitha Henderson (Shawn Spencer's maternal Aunt) falls unexpectedly ill and Mr. Spencer is unable to contact anyone on the list before leaving. (Stipulation: Mr. Spencer must contact one of the aforementioned parties immediately upon his arrival in whatever state this dire emergency has taken place in. Or on the plane, if at all possible)

**Item Two:**

Shawn Henry Spencer is under no circumstances allowed to leave the country without informing at least **TWO **of the following parties: Burton Guster. Henry Spencer. Karen Vick. Carlton Lassiter. Juliet O'Hara.

Exceptions can be made in the event of a national disaster. If all of the United States floods, is set on fire, taken over by Aliens or anything else that one might typically see on a made-for-TV movie and Mr. Spencer is physically unable to contact one of the aforementioned parties due to separation, death or the Aliens taking over the phone lines, then this contract will prove itself void.

Or, if Shawn Henry Spencer is recruited by the CIA, FBI or some other official government agency and asked to leave the country for a **short amount of time **without informing friends and family for their own safety.

If any government agency approaches Shawn Henry Spencer and requests he leave the country for any **extended amount of time **then the government is just going to have to take it up with the SBPD, because that's not allowed.

**Note: **

We reserve the right to add to and/or alter this agreement at any time. Although anyone mentioned in this agreement can suggest alterations, all alterations must be cleared by at least **TWO **of the following people: Burton Guster. Henry Spencer. Carlton Lassiter. Karen Vick.

Shawn Henry Spencer may refuse to concede with any guidelines brought forth by this agreement as well as any alterations that may or may not be made in the future. He may discuss with one of the aforementioned parties his grievances with any part of this agreement and work with them to make it more to his liking. However, if a mutual decision cannot be met then Shawn Henry Spencer needs to hire himself a good lawyer, because there's no way we're leaving this room until he signs it.

All terms and conditions will be legalized by the state of California and set into motion upon the legal signature of Shawn Henry Spencer and two witnesses.

**Shawn Henry Spencer:**

**Burton Guster:**

**Karen Vick:**

Shawn couldn't really say that he blamed them. But he did think that the notary and the three lawyers were a bit much.

o0oo0o

After their little escapade at Corky's, Henry didn't think it was such a fantastic idea to take Shawn to a bar ever, ever again. Even if Shawn told his father over and over that the chances of that same set of circumstances repeating themselves were next to nothing. Henry wasn't taking any chances.

Carlton had thought the whole idea of a double date with himself and Shawn, and Guster and Juliet, was a horrible idea in the first place. It hadn't seemed much more appealing after Shawn had dropped the bomb about his dad coming also.

"_And, well, he kinda didn't wanna be the only 'grown-up' there, so he mighta invited the Chief," Shawn informed him as they were getting ready to leave that night. _

"_Excuse me?" _

"_Don't worry, Lassie. It'll be a hoot." Shawn grinned, standing behind his lover - as he stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his shirt - and resting his hands on both of Lassie's broad shoulders._

"_You're lucky I love you," the older man grumbled._

"_Yeah," Shawn smiled, "I kinda am, huh?" _

It wasn't a bar, per se; it was a bar and grill, restaurant…thing. It had real live waitresses and a basketball game playing on all the TV's in every corner of the room. It was more like a racetrack lounge than anything else.

Shawn felt immediately at ease.

It was hard to miss their group. They'd managed to acquire the largest booth in the place, slightly to the left towards the back, and Shawn grabbed Lassiter's arm and pulled him in that direction the second he spotted them.

"About time." Henry grumbled.

"Says the man who's always ten minutes early," Shawn jibed, "Scoot over."

And soon they were all seated in the booth. With Shawn at one end and Gus across from him at the other. Lassiter was in between Shawn and Henry, who was next to Vick, who was next to Juliet who was pressed suspiciously close to Gus, given the size of their table.

You would think something like this would have been more awkward – all six of them at a restaurant together – even if you ignored the drama that had gone down just a few weeks before. They all more or less worked together and Karen was, more or less, everyone's boss.

Yet she's the one who got the conversation going with, "So I was watching this John Cusack movie last night…" and it had just gone from there.

The margaritas probably helped them out a bit, too.

--

"You remember that time in high school," Shawn was saying to Gus, "That thing with the bungee cord and my dad's wrench?"

Gus laughed, but Henry had a different take on the matter. "It cost me two hundred dollars to replace those windows," he pointed a finger at the two grinning thirty year olds, "Come to think of it, you never did pay me back for that."

"Hey, look," Juliet interrupted their stroll down memory lane and managed to hide her own grin by saying, "Food's here."

--

The conversation kept up during their meal and by his second margarita Shawn was pretty damn sure that this was the best idea he'd ever had.

--

"Dude," he leaned over a little to talk to Carlton quietly, "My dad's drunk, Jules is tipsy, Gus is wasted…how are we getting home?"

"We?" Carlton responded, taking a bite of his seafood platter, seemingly at ease with everything going on around him. "Me and you came together. I'm not drinking. _We're _covered. I don't know about the rest of them."

Shawn thought about it, but ended up just grinning to himself. Yeah, well, there were always Taxis. Or cabs. Maybe Taxicabs. He still hadn't quite figured that one out.

--

"Oh, God," Jules gasped between bites of her chicken salad, "Do you remember that case with the boat guy?"

Karen giggled a bit and Lassiter snorted. "Drunk and disorderly conduct on a _boat. _We didn't know if it was our case or the Coast Guard's."

Laughter filled the air around them. Shawn was happy with the whole damn world right about now. And margarita number three was safely crashing home.

--

"How about dessert?" Henry posed the question to the table.

"Ice cream!" Gus shouted, and was immediately _shhh_ed before he started laughing uncontrollably.

"Dude," he slurred, pointing at Shawn, "You've got this _nose_…" And then he was laughing again.

Shawn couldn't help but laugh along with him and soon the whole table was up in arms. "Man, I haven't seen you this wasted since senior prom."

"Me?" Gus chuckled, tears running down his face, "Dude. You threw up in the _limo_."

"Limo? What limo?" Henry asked, bewildered by this information. "Shawn, you never said anything about a limo. Come to think of it, you also never explained why you didn't come back for _two days_ after the prom was over."

Shawn bit his lip but Gus just kept laughing, "Dude…that was the Mexico border…adventure number one."

All eyes– except Gus's, since his head was currently in his hands as he was still laughing so hard – turned to Shawn.

The fake-psychic said the only thing he could think of, "What, you're gonna listen to him? He's wasted."

--

It was nearing midnight before they'd calmed down as a group. Henry and Vick were getting tired of the younger bunch and were talking quietly amongst themselves. Gus was passed out on with his head on Juliet's lap, the rest of him curled up in the booth; she was rubbing his bald head absently, staring off into nothing.

Shawn had snuggled somewhat into Lassiter's side and was sipping a cup of coffee, trying to get sober, knowing he'd probably end up driving _someone _home. The older detective had his arm around Shawn's back and was stroking light circles on his side.

Shawn looked at the group of people around him. These people that he saw everyday, all the time. They meant the world to him and Shawn was happy right now, mostly, because he knew they were happy, too.

And just maybe because he'd gotten everything he'd wanted as well.

So he sat cuddled up next to Lassiter, watching them all and he knew that for the first time in a long time, all was well.

Shawn reviewed that last thought of his and snorted to himself lightly, earning an odd glance from his lover, father and boss; to which he just shrugged slightly and smiled.

_All was well._

What a classic way to end a story.

**The End**


End file.
